table of contents...boudicca trilogy episode 1: the incident at old bliss beach 52 boudicca trilogy...
TRANSCRIPT
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Table of Contents
Lucent Fong 3
Uncertainty 4
Dissonance 15
Ainsworth in AWOL 28
Delivery in Vietnam 30
Green is just Yellow and Blue 31
Shiloh Pennyfeather 33
Abhishek Hariharan 37
Reflections 38
King Henry IV of France (1553-1610) 42
Suspense in the Mountains 49
Boudicca Trilogy Episode 1: The Incident at Old Bliss Beach 52
Boudicca Trilogy Episode 2: Attack of the Immortals 54
Boudicca Trilogy Episode 3: Freedom… of Sorts? 62
Into The Painting: The Death of Marat (Jacques-Louis David) 70
The Adventure of Blitz the Mouse 76
Uncle Sam’s Political Trip Around the States 79
The Encounter 84
El-Corp: A 1000-Word Tale of Inhumanity 85
Ankit Patel 89
Free Tickets 90
Polanian Lancers 95
Sanctos 99
Pick Up Game 105
The Passenger 107
Allison Wong 109
Pineapple Pizza 110
Visiting Family 112
Dinosaur Parade 114
Stranded 117
Flea Market 120
Thief 122
A Change of Mind 125
3
Lucent Fong
A human who likes to draw, write, sing,
dance, do math, run, swim, play soccer, play
tennis, and a bunch of other stuff.
4
Uncertainty
Lucent Fong
A collection of 10 short poems
5
Tilt
A tilted vase wobbles on the edge
Of survival and doom
Shadows from the untrimmed hedge
Beckon the fate which looms
A silent masterpiece in a state of suspension
A single push which decides
The force, angle and direction
The life of the plant inside
6
Memory
Am I just nostalgic?
Or is it just my logic
Running loose in the past
Trying to make things last
But these images are fleeting
My heart they are defeating
Even I can’t tell
When the Alamo fell
My brain is just one being
Against these memories I’m seeing
7
Jenga
Higher and higher, oh just look at you go
Just keep going up, don’t look down below
Build and build, to the highest heights
A tower of wood, in which you’re out of sight
Block by block, you must never stop
Taking from the bottom and adding to the top
Hole by hole, the structure creaks
From the sturdy foundation, emptiness peaks
Turn by turn, the gaps take their toll
If it doesn’t fall on you, then you’ve achieved your goal
Pieces and pieces, they’re just not the same
But it’s not your problem, because you’ve won the game
That beautiful tower, oh it’s just a pile of rubble
8
Smoke
Of freshness abound, this wandering girl
May she know me not, but know me she shall
This dragon awaits, watching its target
Its flames will consume the traveler’s heart
But when the time comes, the magic deserts
A puff of gray smoke, a lack of clear words
Enough to hide the face but nothing more
The perfect spells planned out the night before
All gibberish as a ruin unfolds
This marvelous dragon breathes no fire
As my brain believes my mouth’s a liar
Wicked spell of immobilization
You strike me now, you will strike me again
I will continue to ask just the same
9
Cat
Schrodinger warned me
Of the possibilities
Open the damn box
10
Chinese Poker
The three of diamonds in a straight
Of higher weight than lonesome eight
Oh don’t you dare to play that pair
A burden flush when five aren’t there
From ten to ace you have them hushed
The royal flush, away it’s brushed
That deadly shade, the two of spades
Since nothing’s clear until it’s played
The highest card’s no guarantee
Of pleasantry or victory
Before it’s dealt, you think you’ve won
But what’s the fun, a game that’s done
A winning hand as one perceives
In certainty lies what deceives
A master turns the worst around
A clown can drown what looks so sound
A twist of fate throws all in air
You stay aware and play it fair
No twos or straights in hand today
And lose you may, but in a way
That making most of dismal hands
Is better than a win that’s planned
Not knowing makes the game carefree
There’s any possibility
11
Lost
Where’s my keys?
Is it in the car?
I’m on my knees
Where’s the dog?
Stuck in the fence?
Don’t hear no bark
Where am I?
Lost in the dark
12
Dandelion Fluff
Free as swans
Wind wanders in air
Floating me dandelions
Drifting
This little white fluff
On my body, settling
Blessed sapling
Will you stay with me
And nurture my wellbeing
Clinging
My skin is your home
Lay beneath my chin, breathing
Together
Imagination
Just for this moment, lovers
Leaching
Was it me or you
Was it naive, believing
Oh to know
That it wouldn’t last
Without soil you can’t grow
Calling
The wind is waiting
It was only me, bleeding
Nothing lasts
Transient white seeds
There’s only one thing I ask
Be sent
Far, far, far, far, far
Away from this continent
So you go
Drifting from my grasp
To the archipelago
Returning
Spring will come again
And I will be there, waiting
13
Subtlety
Looking up or down, but not at you
Unsure if he’s awake in another world
Can he hear me, is he listening?
Every word seems to be his pencil
No one can tell what’s on his mind
Try guessing and he’ll agree, wrong or right
For feigned obliviousness is a dangerous weapon
Only if you watch carefully can you truly see
Noticing subtleties changes man’s identity
Guess again for the picture’s still not clear
14
Living
Giving
When disparity is the only charity
Innovating
When mimicry is the only originality
Dreaming
When reality is the only memory
Smiling
When tragedy is the only clarity
Believing
When uncertainty is the only certainty
15
Dissonance
Lucent Fong
A collection of 10 short poems
*PICTURE TAKEN FROM GOOGLE IMAGES
16
Mask
My word you have of yesterday you say
An earnest look upon your pretty face
But break your promises so relentlessly
Not once, not twice, it’s always been the case
In three dimensions, single sides desist
I know someday reveal your colors true
The coin will cease to land in hidden mist
No altered personality construe
Oh curse this blasted thing, duplicity
To deal with one, do seldom I complain
But multitude of faces swindle me
Please show me truth, when lies will cause me pain
The mirror cracks revealing everything
That I’ve been standing naked there laughing
17
Swing
The final chance before strike three
To etch thy name into history
The mind is focused on just one thing
That perfect contact in a single swing
Misses the ball completely
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To no one in particular
Holes, they riddle my chest
Everywhere in just one place
I’d like to think I tried my best
But my mind still wanders into space
The flowers blossom come spring
But for whom do they shine for?
Is it just a feeling that time brings?
Just biology and nothing more?
The need to share, to give
To someone special, to “her”
That person who makes us live
To the one who makes all better
There must be someone out there
To be with and love
But for now I just sit and stare
As my heart starves
For no one in particular
19
Stowaway
The seagulls are audible
My ship, indestructible
Onto this voyage, adventure it’s full
The perilous, vast sea
No ship is too good to fail
I heard before we set sail
These wise men of old, why do they blackmail
What load of malarkey
From outside, nothing punctures
Of metal is each juncture
But halfway, our engine began to stir
Oh blasted destiny
So the engine’s full of grime
But is that the captain’s crime?
My body and mind, a step out of time
This dreaded blasphemy
As the engine comes to halt
The whole crew is in revolt
Though he’s not to blame, the captain’s at fault
This bloody treachery
The captain tightens his grip
But oh it begins to slip
So when the heart backstabs the head of ship
Never a mystery
With my brain under arrest
The crew takes care of the rest
My heart and brain they wanted what was best
Inside they’re killing me
Let nature decide our path
My heart is a psychopath
No longer subject to logical wrath
Looming catastrophe
Do I believe what they say?
These winds won’t blow us astray?
But in my own ship, I’m the stowaway
Stuck in a mutiny
20
Decline
The moon which splits in half of white and black
There’s nothing pretty spring’s new bounty lacks
But something lurks in pink new petal’s sight
And even sunshine burns when beaming bright
The old fabric, it’s all falling apart
Nature telling me it’s time to depart
Rhyme, rhythm, reason, they all start to fade
Oblivion is near, I can feel it
Nothing makes sense anymore
21
Doubt
Decision
Something that seems so simple
One or the other
Yet when rubble never does settle
There’s not a step laid
That doesn’t crumble beneath
Killing me
The doctor says no issue
My heart rate’s just fine
Is the phosphene just a transience
Invading my eyes
Those iridescent colors
Deceiving me
Where is the anomaly
That’s plaguing my mind
To me, fact and fiction merge to one
The truth they belie
For every decision took
I have wavered
22
Rachel
I was afraid of the dark
Until you, the knight of my life appeared
In the spotlight
Oh Rachel
How you were my angel
Coming from up above
Into my lonely underground cave
Showering me with love
Though I knew not of my past
You showed me the future
Your hands reached towards the stars
Wanting to be among them
But on the ground, you were too far
Only if you climbed the tower
Could you be one with the lights
So you ran away
To the gates of the tower
I followed without delay
A flash of light took us in
And into the abyss we went
Rachel where did you go?
There’s monsters everywhere
Did you know?
That this would be the case
That we must fight our way up
Rachel, there are others here
They’re just like us
Who come from far and near
With dreams of becoming a god
If they make it to the top
But I don’t care for
Wealth, beauty, power or fame
Rachel, it’s you who I adore
I will find you
I will beat this game
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Test after test
Room after room
Fighting the best
Making friends
Where are you?
Every floor gets tougher
Each, a test of resolve
For you I will suffer
Soon the strongest monsters
Become no match for me
The girl in the red hood
Can it be true?
I don’t think I misunderstood
It’s unmistakable
Rachel, I found you
Rachel, oh Rachel
How I missed you
My one and only angel
Oh what happened?
Your legs, they can’t move?
Don’t you worry
I will be your legs
I will carry you up each story
So you can fulfill your dream
No one’s a match for me
No longer am I the weak boy
Starving underground
I’m the most powerful convoy
Lifting you to the sky
To be with the stars
Many cheer my name
Others want me dead
But with you, I remain the same
To them I’m the champion
But with you, I’m just a kid
I’m almost there
I can feel the breeze
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One more flight of stairs
And our dreams will come true
The light will shine on you
As I make the final step
I feel a push on my back
Falling
Falling
Rachel
Was it you?
To you everything I gave
But in the end, was I just your slave?
Did I shine too brightly?
Took your livelihood away?
Under friendship’s guise
You really did despise
David more than Goliath
Who betrayed who?
You were afraid of the dark
And I, the night of your life appeared
Took your spotlight
Oh Rachel
How you were my angel
Based off the Webcomic, Tower of God
http://towerofgod.wikia.com/wiki/File:I-did-it.jpg
25
Speedy Turtle
Vroom Vroom
Faster than
All the turtles
Won all that I could
What is that you say?
The bunny wants to race me?
Does he forget that I’m the fastest?
That no turtle could ever beat me
But when we raced, I soon figured it out
A speedy turtle proves no match for the hare
26
Comic Book Faces
I flip through the pages
Color and action to last the ages
X-ray Xavier can read your mind
Doctor Draymond can cure the blind
The fantastical, the magical mixed together
Something embedded forever
My uncle was a psychologist
My grandpa, a ophthalmologist
I talked to them the other day
I told them that they’re welcome to stay
Wander the house if you want
We can even invite Ariel, my aunt
X-ray Xavier asked me what was wrong
Always told me to be strong
Doctor Draymond gave me vision
Took me off the television
I always listened to what I was told
By these comic book heroes of old
Parkinson's passed my uncle away
Cataracts condemned my grandpa to gray
They told me not to cry
But to keep my eyes dry, a lie
Xavier don’t make me blue
Draymond, don’t leave me too
Oh there you are Xavier
Next to the kitchen table, my savior
By the cabinet, Draymond stands
I walk up to shake their hands
But the air cannot be grabbed
Oh, it’s as if I’ve been stabbed
X-ray Xavier can read the mind
But the only mind he’s reading is mine
Doctor Draymond can cure the blind
But the only eyes that see him are mine
These faces that don’t exist
Why do they still persist
Inside my memory
27
Schizophrenia
Morning sun benediction on the rise
Yellow slashes serve to revitalize
Cutting me cutting me
Puffy clouds whimsically float the skies
Seashell smoking do they immobilize
Choking me choking me
Friendly eyes congratulate do they not?
Walking firmly on to California
Where am I?
Vultures can anticipate my slow rot
Dying lonely, lost in Antarctica
Who am I?
There’s a face here
He’s speaking to me
What?
Hot and cold
New and old
They’re all the same
Peel me peel me
Morning sun consume me
This dissonance is poisoning me
28
Ainsworth in AWOL
By: Lucent Fong
Ainsworth lounged on a couch. Drenched in sweat, he was wearing nothing but a white
undershirt and boxers. A few rays of light escaped through the blinds and illuminated his light
brown hair to a golden hue. The man, in his late twenties, was trying his best to remember what
had happened the night before. He had awoken an hour ago with nothing but a crumpled slip of
paper with a phone number scratched in blue ink. Attempting to determine who the number
belonged to, Ainsworth had realized that there wasn’t even a phone in the room to make a call.
As the minutes passed by, Ainsworth picked away at the holes in the couch, exposing the rotten
foam underneath. The heat had consigned him to waste away in the room and continue his
fruitless attempt to piece together his memories.
It wasn’t until his stomach started gurgling that Ainsworth rose from the abused piece of
furniture. Yellowish pink foam lay all across the floor, pressed to the ground by Ainsworth’s
bare feet as he searched the cabinets for a hidden fridge. After finding nothing but cobwebs and
mold, Ainsworth decided to open the windows to let in some fresh air. As the blinds parted from
the window, the intense sunlight leaped onto the unsuspecting young man. Ainsworth shielded
his eyes with his left hand, squinting as he tried to make out the landscape outside. There was
nothing but sand, a few specks of lonely vegetation and a single gray strip of road that cut
through the yellow. “Where am I,” Ainsworth murmured as he opened the window. A blast of
hot, stuffy air greeted him, causing the man to quickly slam the window shut.
After lounging for another half hour, Ainsworth finally decided to make his way outside
the motel room, hoping to find someone who could explain what was going on. He looked
through the closet for clothing, but found only 2 wooden coathangers. “I guess there’s nothing
wrong about showing a bit of muscle,” the heat stricken soul sighed. As Ainsworth closed the
closet, he suddenly heard three loud knocks coming from the door. “Thank god, it must be room
service,” Ainsworth thought to himself as he made his way to open the door. Yet, instead of
seeing a lady in a maid’s dress, Ainsworth found a stout teen, presumably in his college years,
dressed in a suit. The boy was cleanly shaven with long jet black hair gelled back. There were
dark circles under his eyes and a tiny scar between his left eye and ear.
“Agent Cold Squirrel, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” The mysterious teen scanned
Ainsworth’s body before adding. “Um, this is definitely not how I imagined meeting you at all,
in your briefs and all, but... “ The boy paused for a second, before quickly changing to an
apologetic tone. “Ah, I’m really sorry, I’m not interrupting anything here am I?” The suited
figure cocked his head and looked past Ainsworth’s shoulder, checking to see if anyone else was
in the room. “You’re not interested in that stuff are you? Well, surely not… please ignore me,
I’m just really excited to meet my new partner” the man said, interrupting himself as he spoke.
Ainsworth stared at the stranger. “Excuse me, who are you?”
“Oh, did they not give you my info? I’m agent Humberton, I’m sorry for not introducing
myself, that explains the confused look on your face. Ha ha.” The added laughter at the end did
nothing to lighten the mood for the confused Ainsworth. He was no agent Cold Squirrel, nor did
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he know anyone with that code name. However, he decided that if he were to ever figure out
where he was and how he got there, his best option was to play along.
Ainsworth cleared his throat and said in a lowered voice, “well agent Humberton, I
believe I must have had too much Vodka last night. I’m sorry for forgetting your name, but my
head is a bit foggy right now. Do you know where we are right now?”
Agent Humberton froze for a second. “Vodka? You know we’re not allowed to drink on
the job right? If the agency found out-”
“Who cares. Where are we?” An agitated Ainsworth cut the young man off.
“Well, um, I guess the agency doesn’t need to find out about the vodka. To address your
question, we’re on the outskirts of Mastontown.”
Upon hearing Mastontown, Ainsworth immediately felt his stomach churn. “Mas..
Mastontown.. As in the criminal haven of Harrownook?”
Ainsworth knew Mastontown well. Not because he’d ever been to the town before, but
because of the reputation it had among his friends who traveled through there on business trips.
It was the only city in the entire nation where there were no policemen, no laws, no sort of
societal structure. Criminals from all over the country travel to Mastontown to escape the law as
no policeman dares to enter the free-for-all town.
“Yes agent Cold Squirrel, the one and only Mastontown,” Humberton replied.
“How did I end up in this seedy motel on the outskirts of Mastontown?” Ainsworth felt
his head fade as he started to black out from the heat.
30
Delivery in Vietnam
By: Lucent Fong
Forty two years ago, I was just a young lad stuck in the forests of Vietnam. I was around
twenty two, maybe twenty one years old at the time. It was such a long time ago, but the
experience, the nightmare…. It’s still as vivid as ever. The uncertainty, the knowledge that you
could be ambushed at any moment, ate away at us. There was never any peace. Even when you
slept, you could never be at rest. Perhaps it made me value those little quiet, picturesque
moments in life a lot more - sitting on a porch looking out at a sunset, enjoying dinner with an
old friend - these are the scenes that make me feel that life still has meaning sometimes.
Anyway, how did I survive all those years in that jungle of death? Anything could kill you
bullets, disease, malnutrition. The only thing I had going for me was a singular image, a dream in
my mind.
There was a woman I met at a bar back in Boston in 1954, a year before I got drafted into
the army. Physically speaking, she was perfect. Long, blonde hair that reached all the way down
to her waist. It was naturally straight, which perfectly complimented her slim body that seemed
to be arched invitingly all the time. In the center of her spotless face, was the pièce de résistance,
those sharp green eyes that stared into my soul, gathering my life, memories, everything at a
single glance. During those early mornings in Vietnam, after the dreadful night rains, I would
awaken to her all around me. The crystal dew, with the ever slight tint of green from the grass
around it would give me that brief moment of bliss I needed to last the day, maybe even a week.
I knew that after my brief flirt with her, she would go off to mingle with other men. It
was her duty to deliver what every man wanted. I was one of many hearts that fluttered when
words came out of her mouth even if they were the same subset every time. She came to us, and
would disappear in a flash, leaving us with that fleeting moment impressed into our minds. Now
that I think of it. You would think that she wore something seductive, maybe a black dress or
clothing that exposed too much. But no, she had a simple light blue shirt and navy blue shorts.
Not the type of clothing you’d expect someone to wear trying to get people at a bar. When I
followed her out of the bar late that night, she drove a white van all by herself. She hadn’t had a
single drop of alcohol after three hours in that drunken infused place. I watched as she entered
her van and took out a parcel. She started to smile as she walked over to me….
“Pops” my grandson interrupted.
“Are you just describing the mail carrier over there?”
I laughed. “A strong imagination can get you far young man, even through Vietnam.”
31
Green is just Yellow and Blue
By: Lucent Fong
Beatrice did not like many things. Beatrice did not want to be at the yard sale. Beatrice
did not want to be with her older sister. Beatrice did not want the breeze to tickle her neck. But
no matter how prolific her complaints were, life did not cater to her wishes. Her sister, Maria,
had dragged Beatrice to a yard sale on a windy fall morning. Beatrice’s perpetual pouting did
nothing to change Maria’s mind.
Everything was pointless to Beatrice. The thirteen year old had no reason to be at a
mucky yard sale on an absolutely annoying day. Why couldn’t her sister just go alone? Why
does Maria always have to drag her along? To Beatrice, the yard sale was just a pile of
overpriced junk that kept her away from the comfort of her warm bed sheets.
“Would you stop,” Beatrice shouted at the air. She had made the elements her enemy,
with wind being her arch nemesis. “One day you’ll show yourself,” she mumbled to herself as
she kicked a garden gnome in her path. “Aren’t you things supposed to protect me from danger?”
The gnome, having taken a sacred vow of silence for life, responded by simply rolling over in
the grass. “The wind is trying to strangle me, and you’re just laying there with that smug beard of
yours.” Beatrice kicked the gnome again, sending it crashing into a painting that was leaning on
a box. Realizing her error, Beatrice ran over toward the painting and saw that the pointed hat of
the gnome had torn a hole in the piece of art. “Sh*t,” she thought to herself as she looked around
for potential witnesses. Her sister was busy examining an antique clock, and there was no one
else within her general vicinity.
“There has to be some sort of tape in this junkyard,” Beatrice thought as she examined
the damaged painting. “It looks like someone vomited a bunch of color onto a canvas.” Beatrice
stuck her index finger into the tear and immediately felt a strong pull as she was sucked into the
painting.
…
Red, yellow, blue, purple, green,
orange. The seemingly random
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scatter of color somehow merged together to create something truly captivating. Each color stood
out vividly, bringing attention to the leaves of the tree without losing the eyes in a sea of
rainbow. Beatrice had to blink five times before registering that she was indeed conscious. She
looked around her surroundings, noticing that everything seemed a lot more vibrant than in real
life. “What the heck just happened?” Beatrice saw that the bright lights were not the work of the
sun, but rather of the tall streetlights that lined the path. She was no longer at a yard sale, but at a
park with a forest path. The wind that tormented Beatrice moments earlier was replaced by a
serene stillness devoid of a single breeze. There was a light drizzle, one that gave a feeling of
renewal rather than dread. The biggest change however was the tremendous amount of color that
overloaded Beatrice’s senses.
Beatrice was convinced that the rainbow colored trees she were seeing were the work of
some sort of hallucinogen. “They’re just so… pretty? The colors looked a mess before, so why
does it feel like something’s different? I must be dreaming.” There were dark shadows hidden
beyond the path and into the depths of the foliage. Beatrice suddenly felt a cold shiver down her
spine amongst the warmth of the scenery. She had been sitting in the rain without any sort of
protection for a while. The beauty of nature had distracted Beatrice from the raindrops that
soaked her hair and clothing. It took a stray breeze to snap the young girl from out of her trance.
“Stupid rain, you’re just as annoying as the wind,” grumbled Beatrice who resumed her typically
sour attitude.
The thirteen year old couldn’t stay idle in the moment. Beatrice got up from the wet
ground and did her best to focus on the path in front of her. There was a couple walking away
further down the trail. The man, around three inches taller than the lady, was holding an orange
umbrella over their heads to shield themselves from the rain. He was wearing an ebony black
jacket and reddish brown pants. His partner was draped in a white cloth and held the man’s arm
tightly. Beatrice could make out that the man had black hair while the lady had golden orange
hair, but was unable to make out any facial features from her distance. The pair although
seemingly alone in the park, had all they needed right there in the center of all the color and rain.
Keeping a constant distance of around twenty feet, Beatrice followed the couple along the
path. She had wanted to ask them for help, but couldn’t bring herself to interrupt what seemed to
be an intimate moment. “What are you doing Beatrice, you’re literally stalking them. Since when
were you afraid to talk to people?” Despite the consistent self chastising, Beatrice kept
following, alternating her glances between the ground and the couple. The everpresent puddles
reflected light and took on the colors of the trees around them. There were streaks of white light
that unified all the individual puddles despite the lines of dirt in between. As she splashed
through the surface water, Beatrice could not help but feel a tinge of envy at the happiness of the
roaming couple. They were two beings sharing the moment as one in silence.
Beatrice thought about her relationship with her sister. Maria had always insisted on
bringing Beatrice along with her wherever she went: a party, the mall, to band practice, even to a
crummy yard sale. Yet, Beatrice never wanted to go, always electing to be by herself at home.
There always needed to be a purpose for her to go somewhere. She always found an excuse not
33
to be with her older sister and if she did get dragged along, there was always a waterfall of
complaints. Beatrice stopped for a moment and stared at the scenery once more. The distribution
of color wasn’t as random as she had once thought. The trees on her left mostly mirrored the
colors of the grass on her right. They were warm colors of red, orange and yellow. The trees on
her right took on the colors of the grass on her left. They were cold colors of green, blue and
indigo. Beatrice stared at the path that cut the whole image in half. In the freezing rain, a flat grin
broke out into a full fledged smile across the girl’s face. “It’s not that simple,” she whispered.
Something disturbing startled Beatrice. It was the sound of two voices. Two voices that
were angry at each other. Beatrice took her eyes off of the trees and saw that the silent couple
were now bickering over something. “No, please no,” murmured Beatrice as she saw the once
singular figure split in two. The man had moved the umbrella away from the lady’s head and was
now shouting. The lady had moved her arm away from the man and pushed him aside. “That’s
not right, that’s not right,” Beatrice repeated to herself as she found herself running toward the
fractured couple. Beatrice noticed a dark blue hidden beneath the warm colors of the trees to the
left. There was dark blue hidden everywhere, a dark blue that was always there from the start, a
dark blue Beatrice had chosen not to see.
The couple had stopped moving forward and were now facing each other instead of the
path. Despite the loud splashes that came from Beatrice’s boots, the man and woman failed to
recognize the young girl’s presence as she rushed toward them. Bitter words were exchanged out
loud as Beatrice mouthed the words “please stop” while she ran. Yet, as she was about to reach
the couple, Beatrice found her mind to starting to fade, the yellow reflection on a tree to her right
being the last that she saw.
…
…
…
When Beatrice awoke, she found herself laying in the grass next to the painting. She
opened her eyes wearily to see that she was back at the yard sale. The painting had fixed itself as
if nothing had happened. The couple were still together, arm in arm, alone in the rain amongst
the beautiful foliage. Colors still filled Beatrice’s head, who could think of nothing but the
yellow reflection on the tree. “Despite all the dark colors, it seemed so bright,” Beatrice sighed
as she glanced toward the antiques. Maria, who was still examining an old clock, turned to meet
Beatrice’s eyes. The two stared at each other for ten seconds in the powerful breeze before
Beatrice broke out a smile.
Shiloh Pennyfeather
October 12th, 3024
‘Smile and the day will shine brighter’.
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The analysis of the carbon levels in the rock around it, indicates that such words were
dated to the year 2018. It is interesting to note that given the age of the artifact, the organic
matter, upon which the ink is written on, is still relatively intact. What is even more fascinating is
the meaning of the words themselves. One could liken the words to reminding someone to breath
or asking a fish to swim. It could be interpreted that our ancestors had to be told to smile. More
sufficient evidence will be needed until a viable conclusion can be reached.
Good day,
Shiloh Pennyfeather
December 1st, 3024
A collection of photographs and words were found in what can be presumed to be a
binding device. While the concept of physical imagery is a familiarity in the field of archeology,
the images contained within the rectangles are truly astounding. It must have belonged to
something called a “history textbook”.
The contents of the photographs are beyond describable. People are laying on the ground,
leaking their body fluids. In one picture, a person is inserting metal into another. In another
picture, there seems to be people running from a great burst of energy. The mouths of the
subjects seem to mirror that of a smile, as if someone flipped their mouths vertically. Their eyes
and overall expression seem to express something different. My mind will need some time to
fathom the context and meaning of these photographs. The words, “W.A.R”, and “D.E.A.T.H”
among other unknown words keep on reappearing. It is natural to assume that such words,
remnants of past language, are associated with the photographs. More sufficient evidence will be
needed to further grasp the meaning behind such a discovery.
Thinking diligently,
Shiloh Pennyfeather
January 29th, 3025
I read a fascinating dissertation by my colleague Collin Kingston, on the subject of “The
meaning of no, not and other related words”. There exist many theories as to what those words
mean, especially given the frequency at which they appear in ancient text. Many linguists have
discussed whether it is a preposition, adjective or conjunction. There is general consensus that
the word ‘no’, is associated with the number zero. For example, “I have zero apples” can be
interchanged with, “I have no apples”. However, numbers are used solely to describe
quantifiable data or objects. Ancient texts seem to put “no” in front of any word. “He has no
feelings.” “No drinking allowed.” “There is no hope.”
In Kingston’s paper, he explains that “no” and related words possess meaning beyond
just “zero”. It represents a state similar to that of a vacuum. However, it can be applied to many
different situations. For example, if someone replies “I do not want it”, they are saying that they
have a preference for something other than what was offered. I find it quite interesting that such
a word would exist when there other ways to phrase sentences without such a word. It would
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explain why the family of words relating to “no” and “not” have disappeared throughout the
years.
Reading tons,
Shiloh Pennyfeather
May 19th, 3025
I must say that using words like “no”, “don’t” and related words, have actually made
writing a little easier. It’s a strange statement to make, but I started using such words jokingly,
but they slowly have become ingrained in my daily speech. Instead of saying “I would prefer
water, coffee makes my throat tingle. Thank you anyway” whenever someone asks me if I want
coffee, I can just say, “No thank you”. Of course I would be prompted on the meaning of such a
word, and I would proceed to explain Kingston’s findings.
The texts that we uncover become more and more fascinating as we gain a better
understanding of the ancient language. Their range of vocabulary was much more vast, and was
more direct in many aspects compared to the roundabout way we explain concepts now. Some of
the diction is questionable, and I often find myself asking why our ancestors would perform such
strange acts like poking holes in each other with metal.
Speaking funny,
Shiloh Pennyfeather
October 3rd, 3025
They’ve taken Kingston. The government has taken Kingston for reevaluation. There are
rumours that the government plans on dismantling the entire archeology program and assigning
us to the culinary arts department. I do not know how the government has made such a
connection between fields, but I will not silently stand by while the government tramples all over
our work. Our suggestion to reintroduce old words back into the language was promptly rejected
and led to Kingston’s reevaluation. I don’t have much time to gather my thoughts right now, so I
will end on this entry here.
Doubting,
Shiloh Pennyfeather
April 21st, 3026
All these words, “war”, “death”, “suffering”, why haven’t we heard of them before? A
group of archaeologists led by myself, have been conducting side research while we learn how to
cook in the culinary arts department. A document dated to 2666, stated that all words associated
with “negativity” were to be eliminated from the English language to promote peace and
happiness. Was such a lifestyle so vestigial that it was deemed necessary to remove? The smiles
in the photos of the past seem so real and so powerful. Was it because they had to “suffer”? Did
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having all these “negativity” experiences provide them strength? Today, all people do is smile at
each other and say nice words. These feelings that were repressed all these years suddenly have a
medium of expression through the discovery of all these new words. The public must find out.
Thinking Dangerously,
Shiloh Pennyfeather
August 4th, 3028
This will be my last letter. I know it. The former archaeologist department, rebranded the
culinary arts department, has released an entire dissertation on 21st century language, detailing
the meaning of all the “negative” things in life. The government will most likely send us all to
“reevaluation,” a nicer word for death. If you ever get your hands on this journal, please share it
with the rest of the world.
Goodbye,
Shiloh Pennyfeather
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Abhishek Hariharan
Hey there! Hope you’ll enjoy the collection of
pieces that I’ve written for this Literary
Magazine!!
I’m greatly inquisitive about life in general. I
also love history and geography a lot, and I
have a great passion for being creative and
thinking deeply.
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Reflections
“Oh, Brother” 1
Oh, Brother,
It pains me,
To see you this way...
You were my beacon,
A light in the darkness,
Order within my chaos...
Grief is consuming you
Your thoughts are muddled
Pain is always in your eyes…
You don’t want to talk
But I can sense your anguish
In every action you take….
Yes, you made a mistake,
Yes, it’s nearly irreversible,
But please, brother, please…
1 Partly inspired by this picture: https://goo.gl/kFCZSJ
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Promise me you’ll be fine,
I’ll do anything I can,
Do whatever you need…
It will take months,
Maybe even years,
For you to fully recover…
You will succeed,
You will be redeemed,
And you will feel free...
And just you remember:
I’m with you, always,
‘till the end of the line... 2
“Hope” 3
Standing away in the storms of life,4
Comes a little tiny light,
It’s faint, oh yes,
Barely to be seen….
You feel drawn to it,
Feeling the light’s pulsations,
Amidst the darkness
all around…
You ask the light,
“Sir, what is your name?”
It gives no response
But you can feel a warmth…
It runs through your body,
Loosening all the chains,
You at last feel free
Ready to fly and soar...
You take off through the skies
Looking down from above
2 Gotta cite this, this is not my original content: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c-U-x-okaXA 3 Eh, let’s continue the star wars references https://goo.gl/AUaAuq ; https://goo.gl/cTuNiA 4 So, this phrase is like the beginning line of Inferno; thought it was pretty cool to make a subtle reference
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You see patches of darkness all over
Poor souls crying in sorrow…
You are instantly saddened
And fly down to the darkness
Hearing mournful sobs
Tears that streamed down like rivers
You stretch out your hand
A glow suddenly appears
You pat one figure on the back
And the darkness begins to fade away
Others look on from afar
Bewildered at the sight
You see their faces flush in color
The light back in their eyes…
You see the smiles rise on every face
Their hearts beating with joy
You have given them inspiration
And have delivered them true hope...
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5
5 Picture: http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-i45L5qhFKf0/TpxgRbmud7I/AAAAAAAAAf8/D56ygzAtjzA/s1600/Darkness+vs+Candle+by+Ankur+Sharma.jpg
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King Henry IV of France (1553-1610)
By:
Abhishek
Hariharan 6
6 Picture: https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/3/38/HenriIV.jpg
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King Henry IV of France: An Unsung Hero
The year is 1594, and the situation in the Kingdom of France is dire. French intelligence services
have just intercepted a copy of a letter written by King Philip II of Spain to his intelligence officer; it
describes a plot to assassinate Margaret, the Queen of France. Both the nobles of the royal court and the
common people have erupted into bombastic outrage, with many, especially Secretary of State Louis de
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Revol, calling for war. Revol himself has stirred up anger in the country through a mass propaganda
campaign and has personally instructed for the army to safeguard the queen and get ready for battle.
While the country is readying for war, King Henry IV of France sits alone on his golden throne.
With a frown on his polished face and creases visibly apparent on his forehead, time has taken a toll on
Henry; droopy bags surround both of his eyelids, and his skin is starting to wrinkle, especially near the
sides of his eyes and his cheeks. Nevertheless, he has been polished up as great as a royal can be at the
time, with his face heavily powdered and the traditional royal garments, packed with faded white frills
that surrounded Henry’s large head. A necklace with an obtrusive golden cross can be seen on Henry’s
neck, out-of-place with the rest of Henry’s clothing (in fact, Henry’s advisors forced Henry to wear the
grand cross in order to keep in with hallowed monarchical tradition, much to Henry’s dismay). One can
note Henry’s discomfort in his attire, a marked difference from his predecessors, who each enjoyed the
regalities and pleasures of being a royal.
At the moment, Henry is wary of the events unfolding in his country. He had ordered for the
nobles of the court to exit, and silence is finally able to permeate through the vast hall. He is meditating at
the moment, stroking his long, stylish beard with two of his fingers and attempting to make the current
situation more clear.
Were the Spanish really that cruel as to attempt to assassinate Queen Margaret in broad daylight?
Nay, they could not be so maniacal. But the entire nation seems convinced, and a war with Spain would
be catastrophic for us. I need to take action now, otherwise my people will suffer.
Henry rises up and removes his golden crown, revealing his graying hair. He removes his
ornaments and picks up a ragged robe scattered along the floor, changing into this new attire.
“Sully,” Henry shouts in a triumphant manner to his trusted friend.
The sound reverberates throughout the empty courtroom. Henry is taken aback for a minute,
astonished by the power of his voice.
I can feel the strength emanating, Henry thinks. I mustn’t let it get to the better of me. My goal
has always been the same...the people must be protected.
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He hears footsteps approaching the throne room and realizes that he should speak a little softer.
“Give me some parchment and a quill. Make sure to stall the military for at least a week. Pack
some supplies, and ready a ship discreetly… I’m heading to Tuscany.”
The Duke of Sully walks into the throne room, and, seeing the King dressed in such an
unorthodox fashion, is totally bewildered. Nevertheless, he humbly sets the King’s plans into motion.
After three long days of travel by sea, Henry finally ends up in the Italian state. He sits down at a
table near a local artisans’ shop, waiting for his guest.
“Well, well, Rey de Francia, it is nice to meet you here in neutral territory,” says a man hidden by
the shadows of his dull white robe robe. He beckons forward, and takes off the robe.
While most of his traditional Spanish garbs had been removed, Philip looks striking. The great
Catholic golden cross is bright and apparent on Philip’s neck, but unlike Henry’s own, it seems to fit
perfectly and complements Philip’s attire. He is a pale individual with a trimmed red beard, but carries
himself with such a level of elegance that one could immediately tell that Philip isn’t an ordinary
individual. There is a marked expression of curiosity on Philip’s face, eager to hear why Henry had called
him to this faraway Italian state.
“Same, Roi de Espagne,” Henry replies. He pulls out the intercepted letter and shows it to Philip
II. “Could you explain the meaning of this? I have my suspicions, but I want to hear it from you.”
Philip squints at the letter, and, after a couple seconds of skimming through the paper, a sly smile
appears on his face. “Well, Señor, do you really think we would stoop that low? If we wanted to, we
could crush you solely through the might of our armies and the blessings of our lord and savior.”
“You jest!” Henry says, slightly dumbfounded. “You have every reason to hate us. We have
crippled your influence over all of Northern Europe!”
“Well, yes,” Philip says quite mockingly. “And my people detest yours to the greatest extent as
well. But, Señor, do you really think I would want to kill your Queen Margaret?”
Henry ponders for a second, while Philip, noticing this, becomes more direct with his language.
“Look me in the eye and tell me that I would kill someone an innocent.”
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Henry stares right into Philip’s bright blue eyes at this utterance. It is unwavering and sharp.
There is no way that Philip is lying; the document must be a forgery.
“Alright, Philip. I need to head back now, or conflict is inevitable between our two nations.”
“Take care, my friend.” Philip does a small curtsy. “Hopefully it will be quite a while before we
meet each other on the battlefield.”
Henry and Philip bow before each other, and the two go off in their separate directions.
Taking three more days to travel, Henry finally ends up in Paris and rushes to the armory where
the army had just completed battle preparations.
As expected, Secretary Revol is with the army. His quaint figure rises up at the sight of the king,
and his smile widens. Revol was known to be a shrewd individual, and his stature supports this
characterization, especially when compared to the grandeur of Henry and the great soldiers present within
the armory. His face, nevertheless, carries with him a sense of raw determination, a trait that has enabled
him to become a great diplomat over the past many decades. Revol also carries himself well, wearing a
rich satin suit of the finest purple dye, specially imported for him from the Ottoman Empire. Rubies,
diamonds, and emeralds of all shades hang on a necklace that is a seemingly perfect fit around Revol’s
neck. He is truly the most unique figure of the French court.
As Henry motions forward to greet Revol, he notes a slight furrow in Revol’s brow; both are
there for a split second, but suddenly vanish as Revol’s face widens with delight.
“Roi Henry,” Revol begins, “It is great to see you here! We are about done with the preparations;
it is time to exterminate the Spanish scum and defend our Queen’s honor!” The army motions at this,
raising their swords and shields up in a raucous cheer.
“Revol,” Henry begins. “This needs to end. There has been a conspiracy to bring Spain and
France into war. We need to find out the truth of the matter.”
“My lord, the life of our good Queen Margaret has been threatened. If you do not defend your
own wife’s honor and you instead defend the vile Spanish scum… then you do not deserve to be Roi de
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France.” His sly smile suddenly grows even wider, and he moves closer to Henry. “The good men of our
grand army, do you deserve such a scoundrel as your leader?”
“No!” they exclaim in unison.
“I have the support of the entire military,” Revol whispers to Henry. “I have been planning this
day for eons. You may be revered as ‘Good King Henry’, but soon the people of France will see you for a
treasonous wretch.” Revol moves even closer to Henry, and began whispered under his breath. “You, of
course, have me to thank for all that. I am looking forward to my coronation.”
Revol moves back to the army. “GUARDS! Take this traitor away!”
Suddenly, it all makes sense to Henry. Revol is the one orchestrating all these political
machinations, from the very beginning. He is willing to do anything to obtain power. If he were to lead
France, Henry thinks, the country would burn.
As the guards motion forward to arrest Henry, he suddenly rushes forward to the center of the
armory, surrounded by soldiers in a circular formation. He steps upon a stool, and, elevated above the
masses of soldiers, proceeds to make his speech.
“Good soldiers…” Henry begins his speech, his grand voice booming through the room. “One
year ago, I was the designated Huguenot ruler of France, with my armies stationed around Paris. I had a
choice: to enforce my own will upon the people and take down the Catholics, or convert to Catholicism
and give in to the people. I made a declaration- Paris vaut bien une messe - that the people of Paris were
well worth ‘going to mass’, that the collective good was worth more than my own self-interest. This is my
passion, and the goal of my life.”
Henry points to Revol, beginning the second phase of his speech with a lowered volume but more
dramatic tone. “Soldiers, I am taking my stand here today to expose this traitor for who he is. Secretary
Revol has orchestrated these heightened tensions between Spain and France to serve his agenda… he
wants to depose me as Roi de France.”
The soldiers are murmuring amongst each other. It is clear: doubt is beginning to seep into them.
Henry sees Revol startled by this, and continues onward, increasing and nearly shouting at this point.
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“IF we go to war with Spain, based on this traitor’s agenda… it will be brutal. Thousands upon
thousands of our people will die. Do we want this? Do we want to go into a futile and unnecessary war,
only to see continual bloodshed?”
“STOP!” Revol screams in his squeaky high pitch. “You LIE. Soldiers he is trying to-”
“Silence,” Henry says. He motions towards the soldiers once more. “Do you think he cares about
the common people? Do you think he cares about you and your loved ones? He is a political animal. I
may not be as educated as this secretary, but I do know what is best for my people.”
The soldiers are murmuring in agreement, and start staring at Revol, some even asking for him to
be arrested. Revol becomes furious, and lets out a huge scream.
“NO! STOP! You will NOT mess with my dream. I have been planning all this for MONTHS
and-”
“What did you say?” The room goes absolutely quiet. Revol realizes he has just accidentally
fessed up, and his face turns bright red.
“No, no, I misspoke, I-”
“Guards, arrest this traitor. He is a threat to our monarchy and the safety of our people.”
The guards originally intending to arrest Henry rush to Revol, and whisk him away. The room
goes quiet once again, everyone staring at Henry, who is elevated by the stool.
“May God bless Le Bon Roi Henry IV!” one soldier exclaims.
At this, everyone kneels before the King, pledging their true and utter loyalty. Henry smiles; he
has just possibly prevented one of the most costly wars ever in France’s history.
In the aftermath of the arrest of Revol, more co-conspirators were immediately found and
arrested. The public soon found out about this incident and grand parades and festivities in Henry’s honor
were launched in Paris, Chartres, Calais, and Nice. Support and loyalty to Henry IV grew rapidly.
King Henry IV himself would go on to rule France until 1610, when he would be brutally
assassinated by a radical Catholic in Paris. His rule marked a tremendous period of change in French
49
society, and led to a general stabilization of all internal conflicts. He is now remembered as one of
France’s greatest kings, and is truly an “unsung hero” of history.
Suspense in the Mountains
By: Abhishek Hariharan
Darkness settled gently over my small mountain town, when suddenly… a shriek pierced the
silence, reverberating for a good two minutes.
Us townspeople rushed out from our huts, only to see a mystery person lying in the town square.
A massive crowd started forming around the individual, who was writhing with pain and
suffering. He was definitely a foreigner; he looked nothing like the peaceful, calm villagers that
resided within the town. I saw a head shaved and full of splotches, emblazoned unique,
unfamiliar tattoos. He was young, about my age, and his face was marked with scars from battle.
His pale skin illuminated amidst the moonlight.
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An unnerving sense of anxiety swept through the crowd, as we waited for the elder, watching the
foreigner writhe on the floor. My stomach felt queasy; I looked to my mother amongst the
crowd, and I just wanted to wrap myself in her arms to get rid of this paralyzing sensation.
The village elder, Adoy, finally got to the scene, and we made way for him to meet with the
foreigner.
At that moment, the foreigner stopped shrieking. The crowd that had amassed was taken aback.
There was an eerie silence for quite some time; how could the pain vanish away that fast?
As Adoy worked his way to the town square, the foreigner opened his eyes, and stood up, facing
directly towards the village elder. The warriors of the town, startled, moved forward in a
defensive position.
The foreigner blinked his eyes; first, it was a shade of calm, cerulean blue, similar to the color of
the nearby serenic tidal ponds.
After the second blink, however, his eye was markedly differently.
It was pure coal black. And instead of the round, ovular shape I had seen before, his eyes turned
into slits.
No color at all… just darkness.
And he looked right at me.
Illuminated by the torches that the villagers had lit up, the foreigner looked menacing.
And then, unbelievably, he charged straight into the crowd of people. I screamed, and the adults
in the crowd started to form a barricade to protect me.
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His strength was unparalleled; even the strongest wrestlers of the town could not stop his force.
Within three minutes, about a third of the entire village got bulldozed down. My heart was
thumping as the foreigner stood tall over me; I could feel his towering presence and a sense of
imminent death. He grabbed me in a chokehold position and screamed.
I could feel the life draining from my body as the cold black eyes of the foreigner stared into my
soul. This seemed to be the end...
“So, you have finally arrived,” said an unfamiliar voice. “I did not know what form you would
come in.”
The foreigner, confused, turned around to see the village elder standing calmly by the town
square. Enraged, the foreigner threw me to the ground and rushed straight to the village elder to
attack.
I scrambled behind a bush to watch the ensuing scene. I was so sure that Adoy would get
slaughtered by the foreigner, so it was to my great surprise that the foreigner came to a halt about
a meter away from the elder.
“Hmph,” Adoy remarked. “So you still respect the natural law, even after all of your atrocities.”
The foreigner smirked a devilish smile. “Old man, I have come to reclaim my birthright.” He
pointed to the bush, apparently aware that I was hiding behind it. “She is the key to my success;
and I have taken from her mind all the information I need to wreak havoc amongst this town.”
The old man smiled with utter defiance. “Do your worst, fiend. We have endured for centuries;
what could you possible do?”
The foreigner continued smiling, despite this apparent slight. “You really want to see, old man?
Just you wait. I will exact my revenge, and when the time is right, you will suffer the most.”
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In that instance, there was a blinding flash. The body of the foreigner once more fell onto the
village square. The elder was left alone, extremely concerned about what was to come to the
beleaguered mountain town.
I looked to myself in horror. It was a demon; no way that thing was human.
What had it taken from me? What was Adoy hiding from the rest of the village? And how am I
“the key” to all this???
This sensation of utter fear filled my heart, and that was all I remembered before I blacked out.
Boudicca Trilogy Episode 1: The Incident at Old Bliss Beach
I snuck out of my parent’s house and rode my bike to the shores of Old Bliss Beach. Ironically,
Old Bliss Beach, usually known for its calm and serene waters, had tall tsunami-like waves
crashing down upon the pure white sand of the beach.
Suddenly, I heard footsteps. Frightened at this sound, I ran and hid myself behind a sand dune.
Some pieces of sand were falling in my eyes, but I was curious. Not many people visited Old
Bliss other than me, and almost no one came at night; so, this was curious. I turned around and
saw two figures approach. Luckily, my super-sensitive hearing and sight didn’t fail me, so what I
am about to tell you is one-hundred-percent accurate.
Billy Brandst, a senior from the neighboring town of Old West Brunswick, met up with a lady I
had never met before. This other lady was tall and blond, wearing a pure white lab coat that fell
down to her pants. She had goggles on that were opaque; I couldn't make the shape and color
of her eyes. Her face was pale, but she had a long scar that stretched from underneath the
goggles to the edge of her chin. She seemed like a professional at whatever she was doing.
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Billy turned to the lady, and pulled out this small packet, trying to give it to the lady. She stood
still, with a stern expression on her face, making no intention of what she wanted. It was just the
two of them standing, face-to-face, as the tides crashed the edge of the beach.
Billy grew frustrated, and threw down the packet onto the sand. “Listen, lady, I did exactly what
you wanted. I set the plans in action, and they’re due to occur within the next few days.” He was
visibly outraged at this moment. “I even went nearby to New Bridge and robbed the money from
the bank. I committed a felony… just so you can keep supplying me! Now give me the snow!”
Now, I wasn’t focusing much as nothing was going on, but my eyes saw the faintest tint of
green… and a familiar face. Benjamin Franklin. Oh boy, those were wads of 100’s! And then, I
couldn’t really see… but was that a smile?
“Alright, Billy,” she said. She pulled out a packet of a white substance that I presumed to be
cocaine given the slang that Billy had uttered earlier. “Here you go!”
She threw the bag of cocaine at Billy, who was alarmed. In his panic to catch and insufflate the
drug, she pulled out a pistol and…
BANG.
The body of Billy Brandst now lay on the beach, the cocaine particles mixed right in with the rest
of the sand. I could see the blood starting to ooze out as well, a horrid sight to see on this
beautiful white beach.
The lady finally took her glasses off. The scar really did go through her entire face, and it sure
went deep. Her eyes were the brightest shade of red that I ever had seen, emblazoned with
orange right in the middle of her pupil. She let her hair down as well- I hadn’t noticed those
purple streaks right down the middle of her hair, and how long it stretched down. She tossed the
goggles onto the corpse that lay before her, and snapped two of her fingers.
Almost immediately, two official-looking guards zoomed in out of nowhere, and prepared a
cleanup. They removed the body from the sand and fitted it into the back of a truck. They also
collected the Benjamin’s that lay on the sand, and ensured that any blood that had spilt on the
money had been removed. After a few minutes, cleanup was over, and it was just the woman
again by herself.
She took off her coat and, to my amazement, threw it down upon the sand. Then, she walked
closer and closer to the sea. The dawn was beginning to rise, and the fire in her eyes grew even
brighter. Still behind the sand dunes, I felt the true power that emanated from the lady.
She began to speak to herself:
“I have waited too long, far too long. And, so has this world. It’s fate that brought me here to Old
Bliss Beach today… for this is the beginning of my rise…”
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She turned around, and whistled. The guards appeared again with their all-black Jeep.
“Billy was but a pawn in our schemes, isn’t that right?”
The guards, clueless, nodded. The lady noticed the guards’ inability to understand her
language, but proceeded with her mini-speech.
“Yes… he increased our funds exorbitantly with that robbery of his. And all for one simple bag of
cocaine. I could’ve given it and let him go… but no one will escape the inevitability of what is to
come.”
The lady pulled out her cell phone and dialed a number. “Hello, Dr. Ryan? Yes, this is Boudicca.
Phase 1 is complete. Now, initiate Phase 2. Contact Robert and his science lab… it’s time to get
this drug on the streets and upend everything.”
With one lasting, evil smile, she marched straight into the Jeep with her goons and fled Old Bliss
Beach.
What………… what the heck did I just witness?
Boudicca Trilogy Episode 2: Attack of the Immortals
You emerge from your daydream in history class, only to find the class focusing in on some
random German politician. It’s not like you ever cared for this class… your friends had peer
pressured you into taking AP European History with Mr. Bismarck, and you’ve been suffering
for the past six months with it. Sad, isn’t it? Oh. It’s just only a couple of more months until you
get out of this class.
Suddenly, the eyes of the entire class are on you. Mr. Bismarck and his teaching assistant, Ms.
Catherine, are also looking at you and waiting patiently. Initially, you’re startled because you
know you haven’t been paying attention at all, whatsoever. You don’t even know what time
period the class is studying!
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“Scipio,” Mr. Bismarck says to you, sternly. “I’ll ask again; tell me what the emperors of the
new German Empire were referred to as.”
You actually have no clue what the answer to this question is, but it’s not like you ever cared
about this class, so you begin to calm down. However, your friends begin to laugh. Can they see
your cluelessness? Or, do they just think you’re dumb? Either way, you begin to feel unsettled,
with butterflies fluttering throughout your stomach.
You know you need to at least attempt to answer the question. You start to say “King” (which is
wrong, and you know that), when you hear an alarm start to blare over the intercom. It’s unlike
the beep-beep that you’ve grown to associate with the fire alarm; no, it’s a painstakingly loud
siren that immediately moved everyone to stand upon their feet.
You see tanks and light armored vehicles roll through Main Street nearby. People are walking on
the sidewalks, but the people within the tanks and the LAV’s don’t seem to care; they plow right
on, and the pedestrians are forced to jump out of the way. In your eyes, the tanks and LAV’s
seem to be heading straight to the Capitol Building, having a unique flag that breezed in the
wind. You can see a blue-red-white pattern everywhere, with green near the center. A falcon
with its wings stretched outward is quite visible to you; it looks absolutely stunning, but
extremely foreign to you.
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7
You see a full-scale military battalion following behind the tank, each soldier marching forward,
armed with both an AK-47 and a long blade that stretches from their shoulders to the heel of
their feet.
You are frightened to death. You’ve never encountered anything that could ever counter the
status quo you have come to grow and love. New Jersey is one of the safest places in the nation,
far away from any source of foreign or domestic military forces. How could this be happening?
You’re totally unsettled.
You look around for Mr. Bismarck and Ms. Catherine. Both are dumbfounded and make a run
for the door. They leave without looking back for a second.
7 Picture: https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/9/98/Standard_of_Cyrus_the_Great_%28White%29.svg
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The intercom blares once more, but no alarm is sounded. Instead, you can hear a voice.
“RUN, MAKE A RUN FOR IT! THE IMMORTALS ARE-”
Swish.
You’re absolutely petrified as the silence on intercom permeates throughout the school. You start
to process what the previous speaker said. Immortals? You can vaguely remember some of your
geeky friends who play Civilization 6 scream about the immortals; they were associated with…
Persia.
You look around; some of your fellow classmates have fled the classroom, but you simply
cannot bring yourself to move out of your seat. You can hear screams of horror from classrooms
next door, and can feel an impending sense of doom surround you and your friends.
The intercom finally broke its silence.
“Alright, sorry for that interruption! I’m Bradley, and I’m the new morning announcer at Xerxes
High School! Everyone, please stand to recite the Immortal code of honor.”
You’re absolutely confused. Xerxes High School? You’ve been going to North Stream High
School for 4 whole years; it seems as though the person on the intercom must be mistaken… or
are they? You look outside once more and connect the images you see with what the previous
person on the intercom said. Military-grade weapons, tanks, and light armored vehicles…
immortals… Xerxes high school…
Someone had taken over your city.
They’re most likely using Persian culture as their rallying point.
It has to be a radical group.
You need to stop them.
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You see everyone else standing, and you join them. The person over the intercom begins saying
a new pledge. Some of your classmates, the weak-hearted ones, begin saying the words that
Bradley is saying over the intercom. The more patriotic ones rip the American flag off of the
flagpole and wave it fervently, in defiance of this attempted coup. You, on the other hand, are
just trying to piece together what the heck is going on.
Just then, the door bursts open.
8 9
Three young men of varied races, all decked in full-clad shiny medieval armor. Each has a long,
pointed spear and a shield with foreign iconography, probably historically Persian symbols,
emblazoned everywhere. They rush forward to the patriotic group, cornering them to the wall
and immediately executing them.
The three warriors, having quelled the dissenters, now stand at the front of the room, looking
down at all the students who are remaining standing. They scan around, noting that everyone is
seemingly calm.
That is, of course, until they meet your eyes. You stare right into the fiery, golden pupils of the
first warrior. You take note of this… you’ve never met anyone with that same shade. You look at
the other two warriors; they have the same color, exactly the same shade! You take a closer look
8 Left Picture: From Google/Bing (https://goo.gl/qBwMWG) 9 Right Picture: https://i.pinimg.com/564x/65/0b/56/650b56ff79391edbb77c5e5a677b49cc.jpg
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at each of the people: they’re extremely young, almost the same age as you. Each has large dark
circles around their eyes, and damaged skin that’s almost similar to… drugs.
You think back to your memories from your health class. People who take drugs have certain
characteristics that are completely unique. In this case, you realize that these three neo-Persian
warriors have the same characteristics as normal people who take drugs on the street. So, you
conclude, there has to be a connection to drugs. Drugs? Hmm, you think to yourself. Where have
you heard that before? It sounds eerily familiar.
Oh.
The last time you thought about the incident at Old Bliss Beach, you were pretty much petrified
over the death of Billy from Old West Brunswick. You hadn’t reported it to anyone because who
would trust the word of an angsty, rebellious teenager who had ran away from home to spend
time at the beach? People would’ve thought you were crazy.
You realize now that that was a huge mistake. As the “Immortals” rush forward to encircle you,
all you can think about is the creepy, malicious laugh of Boudicca. It had haunted you for weeks,
but you didn’t decide to seek counseling or tell anyone about it.
The warriors are just about to flank and stab you as they had done to your fellow classmates,
when suddenly, the windows to your left explode. Some glass shards pierce through your skin,
but at this point, the fear that’s emanating through your body is numbing the pain that you feel.
The immortals stop just short of ending your life; distracted, they turn to the window.
Three enormous soldiers, each equipped with a state-of-the-art rifle jump from nowhere, down
into the classroom. They land on their knees, about four feet away from you and the Immortals.
One of the soldiers begins to speak:
“Surrender now and let the children go; that is the only way you will come out of this alive!”
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The others load their guns and get in position.
The Immortal closest to you grabs you and puts a knife to your throat. It doesn’t go in too deep,
but you can feel the knife go a little bit in. You aren’t fazed at all, but your anxiety reaches a
boiling point as you see the blood ooze out of your throat and down to your shoulders.
“LET HIM GO NOW!” the soldier bellows. The immortal holding you nods a “no”, and pushes
me forward. The other two immortals shield the first one, who rushes out the door to the
classroom, taking you with him.
You can feel your strength seeping away. More blood is pouring out, and the numbness you had
initially felt had went away. Oh, the pain, it is unbearable to you! But you can’t do anything; the
Immortal literally is dragging you across the hallways of the school. You hear gunshots in the
classroom you were in before, indicating the soldiers’ success in quelling the threat of the
Immortals upon the classroom.
You realize that this is your time now. Holding your throat to stem the bleeding, you use all the
strength you can muster to smash the Immortal upon one of the long, metallic lockers of your
school. It works! The Immortal reduces his grip, and falls to the floor; you’re able to regain your
composure.
At the same time, you feel your movements slowing. You start out running back to the
classroom, but you reduce it to a walk, and finally you find yourself dragging your feet forward.
Envisioning that you’ll find a savior amongst the soldiers, you open the door of Mr. Bismarck’s
classroom once more.
Instead, your worst nightmare has come true.
“...Drake? Is that what they call you?”
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Standing right amidst the teacher’s desk is Boudicca herself, her hair now a flaming purple, and
her smile as devilish as ever. You look to see both the soldiers and the Immortals cornering your
classmates in the corner, near the bodies of those who were executed initially.
“Don’t worry, hon, we have plans for you.” Her smile widens, revealing teeth that almost look
like fangs.
One of the soldiers yells out: “READY! AIM! FIRE!”
You can not bare to look at your friends’ execution. But at that moment, you feel yourself falling
to the ground and your vision is becoming more and more blurry. You can’t even feel the impact
you have whence you hit the floor, but you do hear a dozen shots go out, and a laugh that pierces
through your ears. It permeates through your mind for what seems like an eternity...
And everything goes black.
62
Boudicca Trilogy Episode 3: Freedom… of Sorts?
Light shone down upon my eyes. It was quite unnatural, really. I couldn’t recall what had
happened to me.
“Oh, for the love of… open your eyes, Drake!”
Stunned, my eyes flung upwards. And there she was, Boudicca in all her glory.
That futuristic purple hair...
That long, deep scar stretching from her eyes to the side of her chin….
Those red-orange eyes, emblazoned with a destructive, anarchical fire…
And that smile, oh man. It was devilish at its core. Quite small indeed, but it emanated an aura of
evilness.
I looked around the room. We were in some sort of old cabin; the furniture was dusty and full of
cobwebs. The light shining on my eyes was from a window that had just been uncovered. I
turned to it, and saw the city skyline in the distance… we were definitely a few miles out. Sadly
enough, however, I could see disastrous things occurring from this distance. Smoke was rising
from multiple spots within the skyline, and every so often an explosion would occur (the
vibrations reverberated, and I could feel the intensity of them, even that far out from the city).
Boudicca began to speak. “Isn’t it beautiful? The whole city is mine now, and no one on the
outside seems to even bat an eye.”
While she was going on about her mini-tirade about world-domination, I sought to find a way to
escape. There had to be some sort of inter-city resistance to Boudicca and her cronies, and I was
determined to find and join it as soon as possible. But the first goal was escaping this prison that
Boudicca had constructed and leaving myself free to head back into the city.
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“...and the whole world will soon fall to my glory! HAHA!!”
As she was about to begin a new part to her speech, I looked around the room for items that
could help me escape. A rope? A wood plank?
And then, on the table, I saw a knife. These captors of mine hadn’t bound the chair down, so I
could keep shifting my way over to the table. Only problem was, Boudicca was still talking to
me. But at that instant, I had a pretty ingenious idea.
“You coward.” I stated blatantly in the middle of her now third distinct rant. “If you were as
strong a leader as you call yourself, you would cut these ties off of me right now.”
Boudicca laughed. “And WHY on EARTH would I do that? I’m not a fool, you know. I’d beat
you up faster than you can imagine.”
I laughed back. “Well then, do your worst. I dare you, untie me, and then I’ll gauge how tough
you really are.”
This hurt her ego; I could see Boudicca’s smile quickly vanish into a frown. She pondered over
this decision for a couple of minutes, before finally moving towards the table and obtaining the
knife. She approached me slowly. When she finally reached where I stood, she just stared into
my eyes.
And she cut off the zipties that kept me secure to the chair.
Immediately, I fled. I didn’t care about the sharp pain I had felt on my back (presumably from
the same blade; Boudicca must’ve stabbed me with it). I jumped through the window. We were
on the same level as the ground, so I was confident in myself.
Once I got outside, I basked in the sun for a good ten seconds. Then, I kept moving. Boudicca
would probably be getting a rifle ready to hunt me down, so I needed to stay out of the window’s
point of view.
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I used all the speed I could to run through the field that was next to the shack, and towards the
city. I had no idea where the rebel forces were located, but this was the only chance I had. The
skyscrapers in the horizon got closer and closer to me- I had to rush, however. I could hear
distant rifle shots in the back, as well as the starting sounds of a chopper.
“HEY! OVER HERE!” I heard someone scream. The sound was coming in front of me rather
than behind, so I took it much more seriously.
I turned, and saw two individuals with bright yellow construction worker caps. They waved me
over, pointing to the sewers by the edge of the city’s entrance. I pondered for a minute in my
rush: what good were these construction workers going to do? However, I saw their hands…
they had some high-tech weaponry! Oh my god… grenades, modern firearms, and much more….
They had to be part of the resistance.
I needed to make my move right now. The sounds were getting closer. I could hear the chopper’s
guns firing away at the ground behind me; scarily enough, I felt the swishing caused by a bullet!
When I got close enough, I took a great leap of faith (literally), straight near the “construction
workers”. They easily hid me behind them, made some shots at the chopper, and pulled out a
huge weapon… what the heck was it?
“Son,” said the construction worker behind me. “Let me show you how it’s done.” He fired the
weapon, which I now realized to be a bazooka, straight at the chopper. It exploded instantly, and
came crashing down upon the field. All of us ducked and covered ourselves.
“GET IN NOW!”
The sewer literally opened up before my eyes, revealing this high-tech secret entrance to some
sort of hideout.
And I was dragged, I closed my eyes as the explosions continued in the nearby distance.
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…
“Son, wake up. You’ve been out for a good seven hours.”
My eyes shot up again. The situation was eerily similar to how Boudicca had woken me up
earlier, so I started to get defensive. My hands curled up into a fist, and I started flailing.
“CALM DOWN SOLDIER! GET A GRIP!”
The voice wasn’t the shrill one that I had now accustomed to Boudicca. It was a strong,
empowering voice that sent a wave of courage and strength through my soul. I was startled, but I
finally calmed down. I turned to observe the figure.
He was a tall, bold individual. His face was chiseled with scars and wrinkles, presumably from
years of service in the military forces. His eyes flared a defiant yellow, and he had dark hair that
was faded along the sides. He had military-style camouflage colors throughout except for his hat,
which was of a pure shade of gold. Whoever this guy was, he truly was something.
I turned left and right to see my surroundings: the high-tech futurism that I had noticed by the
sewers was now fully surrounding me. I noticed I was lying down upon a simple cot. It seemed
really out of place, given the lights and glare of all of the electronics that surrounded me in the
room.
“Look,” he beckoned to me. “My name is Leo. We knew of Boudicca’s plot years ago… but we
had no idea that it would strike with such gravity.”
He pointed to a monitor that revealed everything.
“She has been the bane of US intelligence since the formation of her secret overseas Celtic drug
cartel. Boudicca has been subverting us with every action she took, and she has never been
caught. We were close at points, but we never were able to fully figure out her plan. That is, until
she took over our city of Old Liverpool today.”
Then, suddenly I heard the shrill voice again.
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“Why, why, Leo and Drake!”
She literally appeared out of nowhere. No, she was everywhere at once!
“How… how is this possible!” Leo’s eyes widened with shock. I for one, could barely even
move off of my bed.
It seemed as though the other rebels were not even in the room at the moment. The multiple
Boudiccas, each with their own signature face-long scar and devilish smiles, cornered us.
“LEO!” I shouted. “WHAT DO WE DO???”
But Leo vanished before my eyes. I looked forward and saw the Boudicca at the far end of the
room blow the smoke away from some futuristic gun.
“This game has gone far too long, Drake. Say your prayers.”
That smile.
I couldn’t even distinguish what was happening anymore.
Smile.
Fire.
Purple.
She was not only everywhere physically, but she took control of my mind. I was spinning away,
into insanity. And keep in mind, this was before the blaster hit me.
The pain surged again, but it felt trivial in comparison to what was going through my mind. I was
spinning away, forever lost.
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…
…
…
“Uh, excuse me, it’s rude to stare.”
Boudicca looked at me once more. But we were not in the rebel headquarters anymore. No, we
were in Old Bliss Beach!
I shrieked for a second. “WHERE’S BILLY! WHAT DID YOU DO?”
“Uh, I’m right here.” Billy stepped forward out of nowhere. I scanned up and down to ensure he
wasn’t hurt; no, he looked perfectly fine?
“You alright?” Boudicca asked. “You’ve been staring at us for a while now.”
“Boudicca,” I said. “You can’t be serious, after all-”
“Who’s Boudicca?” she said. “My name’s Jane. Will you leave us alone? We’ve been trying to
reconnect for years, and this was the one chance Billy and I had, but you’ve been continually
interrupting us.”
I was absolutely dumbfounded, but Billy and “Jane” looked ever so serious.
What the heck?
Was my mind that weak?
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As the waves calmly swept over the sandy beach, I left Jane and Billy alone, so I could have time
to think. It was as if my mind had been in another place for months. Almost as if I was in a false
reality… and yet, it felt so real. But whatever. I laughed it off.
I was finally free now. It was the most traumatizing experience I’d gone through, in the span of
only a few minutes.
I headed back to my bike by the entrance to the beach so I could head home to talk to my
parents.
Clink.
I felt this small ornament hit me in the head. It fell down to the tar of the parking lot. I bent down
to pick it up.
I’d know that symbol from anywhere. It was a knot, obviously, but my British relatives in the
countryside had specifically taught me about it before.
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It was a Trinity Knot. Associated with the… Celts.
Boudicca.. Celtic Queen of the Iceni.
No way! It must have been a dream. I was back at Old Bliss Beach. Billy Brandst was alive!
And then, I looked in the horizon.“Jane” was staring right at me.
With that one unmistakable feature of Boudicca’s…
That smile.
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Into The Painting: The Death of Marat (Jacques-Louis David)
Story by: Abhishek Hariharan 10
I was standing in the Royal Museum of Fine Arts in Brussels; we had traveled here for my
school’s senior year field trip. With a rebellious attitude in my mind, I moved to the back of the
10 Picture: https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/f/f8/Jacques-Louis_David_-_Marat_assassinated_-_Google_Art_Project_2.jpg
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crowded tour and snuck around. After some time, I saw one painting that looked… quite
different. I only saw a man, with his eyes closed, leaned back against a platform with… was that
blood? Somehow, this painting was unguarded, and I was pretty curious to feel this painting; I
felt a force drawing me towards it. I put my hand out, expecting to feel the surface of the
painting… but it went through! I was absolutely shocked, and I felt the force pulling me in…
I didn’t resist.
Almost immediately, my entire surroundings had a marked change. The lighting in the room
darkened almost immediately, becoming much darker. I took a look around: the light was coming
from a barely open window that almost imitated the glow of multiple candles. It was certainly
midday, pretty bright outside. Noting this normalcy, I turned around to fully examine my
surroundings.
The body was there, the same one in the painting. It was actually in a bathtub, with the corpse
almost leaning over. Seeing it up closer, however, showed me the true brutality of the murder.
The figure was pale-skinned with blood only covering a single streak down from the middle of
his chest: a deep wound! I knew that there was no way it was self-inflicted; it had to be a murder.
That being said, however, the blood was everywhere in the tub. It oozed out in a horrifically
powerful shade of red, and it seemed vibrant in its intensity. The bloody water was spreading
through the bath, wavering up...then down… then up… then down. I was appalled and repulsed
at the same time; I had lived in an area of the world so privileged and safe that I had never
encountered such a monstrous action before.
The wood block saying “A MARAT” gave me a clue; we had studied a figure known as Jean-
Paul Marat in French History Class. OHH! Marat! He was one of the key proponents of the
French Revolution’s reign of terror! Clearly I was transported into the painting, ok whatever.
But… I’m not only in another world, I’m back in time as well. And… oh my gosh.
Marat was lying dead, and I was the sole person in the room.
I heard a rattle behind the countertop; I turned around, only to see a shadow of a figure swiftly
move towards the window. The dark figure turned around to reveal a bright white face. She
rushed at me, but instead of attacking me, she grabbed the knife from the edge of the floor near
Marat’s hand, and moved back to where she was before. I saw the edges of a smile curl up, and
before I knew it the figure jumped out of the window.
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I rushed over, only to see the bloody knife on the edge of the windowsill. I could not see the
figure at all on the streets below; it was a crowd of people all over, bustling about their ordinary
lives.
Turning around to face Marat once more, I heard a shout from below. It grew in intensity at each
utterance, at which point I began to hear footsteps rapidly clop up. I stood frozen in my step:
what was going to happen? This was not going to look good if someone saw me in this situation.
The door was locked; I probably should’ve opened it to cast doubt away, but I wanted to get out
of this place as soon as possible. I motioned backward to where I entered, but I found that the
portal that allowed me to enter the painting had vanished! All that remained was a bare brick
wall; however, there were burnt outlines indicating where the painting’s entrance had been. I
rushed to the outline, and, realizing that there was no hope to go back, pleaded for the entrance to
reappear.
The door finally burst open: a servant (at least, that’s what I presumed) rushed forward and saw
the body of Marat. He screamed, noticed my presence and the bloody knife in the background,
and rushed back downstairs.
Almost tripping down the stairs, I raced after the servant, shrieking and trying to get the full truth
of the situation out. The servant kept running however, and was too fast for me. He leaped
through the door of the rickety old building, found a local agent of the Committee of Public
Safety, and I presume he told that agent his version of the truth (unfortunately, I opted out of Ms.
Frank’s French class back home at school… probably could’ve helped here now that I think
about it…) .
The agent just simply stared at me for two seconds, looking to gauge whether or not the servant
was telling the truth. He must’ve seen the fear in my eyes, for he grabbed me by the wrist and
took me with him upstairs. We made it back into the room with Marat, and witnessed the
gruesome figure of the body once more. The eyes of the agent widened, and his mouth opened
with horror. He then turned to me with fury in his eyes and suddenly gripped me even tighter.
I knew there was no escape; if I didn’t make a move now, I’d be tortured and then executed.
After all, this is the Reign of Terror stage of the French Revolution. If common peasants were
being guillotined for the slightest suspicion that they were traitors, imagine what they’d do to
me, an accused murderer of the great Marat.
Thus, when the agent let his guard down for the slightest instance whilst we were proceeding
down the stairs, I made my move. I elbowed the agent in the stomach and had no choice but to
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throw him down the stairs. I went back upstairs, and looked frantically. I couldn’t go down
again. There was only one way out: through the window.
I took a closer look at Marat; his body hadn’t moved an inch since I was transported into the
painting. The water in the tub stopped splashing around and now became a dark red color. The
blood stopped oozing out of Marat’s body, but bright red droplets still were visible at the wound
mark. His face looked as serene as ever, like he was in a deep sleep.
It’s clear that this man, innocently killed in his bathtub, would become a martyr. And, I would be
slaughtered; I knew the guillotine would be used to finish me, but I suspected that if the French
people had their way, they would want me to suffer so much more before I was finally executed.
There was no other choice: I needed to jump.
The agent clopped back up the stairs, and paused as he got to the door to the upstairs bathroom.
He gave a loud cry with rage and passion.
I rushed forward, out of the grasp of the agent, who sped with all of his force. I took the bloody
knife and threw it at the agent’s leg, momentarily distracting him. Then, I sat down across the
window sill, put my legs over into the open air, readjusted myself, and fell forward… all with my
eyes closed.
I could feel the air rush through my face. My fall seemed almost endless, but I could not dare to
open my eyes.
Then, the pain came. Oh, it was gruesome! It felt like falling on a thousand bed of nails. I
couldn’t move my body at all or even open my eyes. The pain grew more and more with
intensity, until I felt nothing.
After a while, I was able to open my eyes. I found myself staring at the body of Marat again,
looking all bloody. Had I not just seen the body just before my fall? Maybe I had just envisioned
it in my mind… probably a last minute swoop of insanity.
I heard footsteps approaching from the side, and assuming that this was once more the agent, I
turned to rush towards the window once more to jump.
I found myself coming to a screeching halt, almost knocking over Ms. Frank, the French teacher
and chaperone for this trip. She had a stern look on her face, very displeased.
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I took a look around: I was back in the Royal Museum of Fine Arts! I was no longer in this
shabby, dark room with the body of Marat; instead, I had somehow been teleported back to the
room with The Death of Marat, a wide spacious art gallery. What in the! I was amazed, my
mouth literally dropping down to my chin.
“Max, why are you not with the rest of the group? You have been so insolent lately, I’ll have you
know that….”
Still amazed by the recent turn of events, I tuned her out. Rushing back to The Death of Marat, I
tried going back into the painting, but now there was a canvas instead of a fake illusory screen.
“Max! Stop touching that masterpiece! I’ll have you know…”
For two moments, I stood in utter shock. What had just happened? Was it all a dream?
I looked at the painting more carefully now. The water was darker than I had originally seen it,
yes, but the knife was also still on the floor as it hand been before. However, in the corner of the
painting, I saw a leg of a person angled downwards, in blue. There was a gash along the side,
with blood starting to ooze out as well.
I distinctly remember no such leg appearing in the original painting.
This had to be the agent who was rushing towards the window to catch me before I fell, and the
wound on his leg had to have been from me throwing the knife to his leg.
It seems as though my journey into the painting was real after all. However, should other people
know of my journey?
I looked at Ms. Frank, who was still nagging on about oil canvas paintings and the French
Revolution, and how I was such a spoiled brat and all…
Nah, it’s cool. Maybe this’ll just be my one little secret. I looked back at The Death of Marat and
remembered my adventure once more before heading back to my dull life.
I took in a deep breath before I turned around and finally sought to deal with Ms. Frank’s
constant, neverending tirade.
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11
The Death of Marat in the Royal Museum of Fine Arts in Brussels
11 Picture: https://mondegro.com/death-marat/
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The Adventure of Blitz the Mouse
There once was a mouse named Blitz who wanted to explore the inner machinations of his beloved abode.
After days and days of crawling through the pipes, he finally made his way into a great abyss below! It
was pure dark, and when the mouse tried to move forward, Blitz found himself unable to move.
Suddenly, a blinding light blazed forth in the mouse’s eyes. It was a giant!!!! Oh no!!! Wait… there were
two of them!
“Alrighty, now let’s see what your problem here is, ma’am,” boomed the taller giant.
“EEK! A MOUSE!” screamed the shorter giant.
Blitz, startled by this, raced forward to escape the clutches of these giants. He lept past their long, tall legs
and into a basket of red onions so he could be free. He could hear the giants marching from behind, so the
mouse needed to make a strategic battle decision. Hmm….
But as soon as Blitz got into the basket, he felt a haze run all throughout his body. His eyes began to feel
intense pain, and he felt tears run down the small 1-inch cheeks he had. Oh no! What kind of magical
incantations had the giants been using on the poor mouse??
“GET THAT MOUSE!” screamed the shorter giant. “HE’S RUINING THE ONIONS FOR MY
LOVELY CAESAR SALAD!!!!!!!!”
The tears were flowing down Blitz at this point, and really burning his small, dark eyes. He needed to
escape… he could hear the giants getting closer! But vision would not help Blitz with this quest. He
literally took a leap of faith, projected himself forward, and found himself hitting a cool tile. He opened
his eyes again, the haze of the onions were finally gone, but the giants were getting closer.
Blitz was startled once more. Realizing that the low ground was a bad option to evade these mythical
gargantuan creatures, he looked upwards towards the high ground, which, in this case, was a pretty
peculiar machine. He saw articles of clothing in; bewildered, he still realized the necessity for getting up
there. There was a very large open hole, almost the size of a bowling ball, in the corner of the wall, and it
was within jumping distance. Looking up with defiance, Blitz realized that the jump from the machine to
the hole was the only way he was getting out of this alive.
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“DO SOMETHING YOU FOOL! I DIDN’T HIRE YOU FOR NO REASON, YOU PETTY
MECHANIC!” screamed the short giant once again.
“Uh………….” stuttered the taller giant. The taller giant seemed to be flustered.
“IF YOU DON’T FIX THIS PROBLEM I WILL PERSONALLY FIRE YOU, YOU HEAR ME? I WILL
MAKE SURE NO ONE WILL EVER HIRE YOU AGAIN!!!”
This alarmed the taller giant. Franticing, he picked up the only thing closest to him; a large pineapple that
the shorter giant had procured from the best pineapple farm in all of Sonoma County. But he did not
know that; the taller giant saw an object to use to take down the mouse, rather than the prized possession.
Blitz, seeing this, immediately knew what was going to happen. He needed to make the leap now. Using
all the force he could muster, he flung his little mouse body up at a steep angle to reach the washing
machine, landing successfully on top of the top white platform. Blitz was initially startled by the
vibrations emanating from the center of the machine, but he needed to proceed.
But there was still one more leap left, and this was the one that mattered.
Knowing that it was very likely that he would just land flat and fall, being hit with the consequences of
what the tall giant was about to do.
He closed his eyes.
And just then, the tall giant flung the pineapple…
…
…
…
“YOU FOOL! WHY ON EARTH WOULD YOU FLING THE BEST PINEAPPLE IN THE WORLD!
YOU THREW A PINEAPPLE AT A RAT? WHAT THE HECK!!!!! THAT’S IT!”
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Blitz the mouse opened his eyes again at what he now knew as the tall giant’s booming voice. He was in
freefall now, down through a dark pathway. He could see a light down, and other mice! Oh my gosh! He
was alive! And his brothers are sisters were going to help catch him!
“BLITZ! WATCH OUT!” squeaked a voice from below.
As the light grew closer, Blitz turned around. It was the pineapple!!! What in the world? The tall giant
somehow managed to throw that large fruit down into this hole! How foolish!
But Blitz did not have time to believe the impossibility of the situation; the pineapple was crashing down
too!
He had a sudden idea and indicated to the mice below what he was going to do. It was all instantaneous.
As Blitz was approaching the ground, he suddenly flung leftward, to where at least half the mice were
waiting to catch him. The other half procured a bunch of rocks to act as a cushion to ensure the pineapple
didn’t topple over or crush any rats.
When the freefall finally came to an end, Blitz found himself in the arms of his brothers and sisters.
Incredulously, he looked at the massive pineapple balanced perfectly by the pile of rocks that were
amassed.
The day had been quite a journey for Mr. Blitz the mouse. He was put down to the ground by his fellow
mice, who were looking for some comment as to his journey through the giants’ domain.
Blitz paused for a second. He knew they were expecting some great story about the colossal giants, the
magic onions, or the vibrating mechanism he had leaped onto. In his mind, Blitz realized that he did have
a story to tell, but it would be best for another time. Blitz looked in the eyes of the mice and just smiled.
“Anyone hungry?” he squeaked. “Who wants some pineapple?”
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Uncle Sam’s Political Trip Around the States
By: Abhishek Hariharan
Disclaimer: This story can be offensive to some, but was not intended to be offensive. If it is,
sorry!
It’s been two whole years since I made my return trip to the United States, back since these
people elected Donald Trump has their President. It’s hard being the physical manifestation of
the United States, but during these times, people routinely see me, Uncle Sam, in a different way.
A couple of months ago, I decided on a trip all across the United States to see the different
people of my domain. I’m sure that they’d love to see me; everyone does! However, I’m more
interested in seeing them; if they’d changed in political polarity since the last time I saw them
back in 2016, or if they’re all just the same.
I started my trip down along the Northeast of the United States. Ah, New York City. The city
that never sleeps! I looked up from the window of my tour bus to see bustling skyscrapers,
towering above all the denizens of the city. But the people down below looked crass and rushed.
It seemed no one cared about what was around them, but only what was ahead of them for that
day.
Curious, I got off on 34th Street and approached one of the people along the road. He seemed
idling by, so I thought he was a good figure to speak with to understand how New York had
changed within the past two years.
“Sir, would you mind speaking to me for a couple of minutes?”
The guy turned and glared. “Who in the- excuse me? Do you mind? I’m trying to get to
somewhere important; I don’t have time for people like you!”
Wow. That was pretty abrupt, and I was taken aback. Still, I persisted with my line of
questioning.
“It’s really important and will take just a couple of minutes, sir. If you don’t mind.”
Begrudgingly, the individual I was speaking to assented.
“You’re Uncle Sam? Uh, ok, well, things for me have been pretty much been the same for the
past two years. Even though they elected him to be President, New York has just moved on. We
don’t really have the time to deal with problems down in D.C. or the rest of the world. Anyways,
gotta go catch this bus!”
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And just like that, the guy just moved on, briskly walking away from me. The entire
conversation had only lasted about 10 seconds… heck, I couldn’t even get his name!
I had to talk to two other people just to get the whole story out, since everyone just kept trekking
along to work, not having the time to even have a 5-minute conversation with me. Essentially, I
was confused about what the heck their attitude was all about.
“Trump?” the second person said. “Who cares? I have 5 meetings to go to today, and I can’t let
the silly issues outside the city faze me!” And with that, the second person rushed before me,
literally leaving me all by myself.
“Trump?” began the third person I met along Times Square, amidst the flashing colors of the
screens. “You mean the guy who built the big tall tower down along Fifth Avenue?”
“Uh… yeah, of course,” I said. “He’s also our President.”
“President? Of what? The Golf Association of NYC?” I was taken aback by this statement, but
before I could respond, the third person hailed a taxi cab and headed away, down into the
bustling streets of the city.
Yeah, each of my interactions were brief and didn’t really give me as much information as I had
desired. Nevertheless, I did end up learning some valuable information: the New Yorkers didn’t
like the Trump administration at all, but at this point they couldn’t really care less. They’re just
unbelievably busy! And in my mind, I couldn’t even fathom the lifestyle of these people, how
their lives were incessantly set forth on this same cycle of work-sleep-work-sleep.
For my next trip, I decided to head down South, down to the great state of Tennessee, right in the
heart of the American South. I knew it would be completely different from what I had seen in
New York City, but I had no idea how different it was.
My train stopped me right on the outskirts of Nashville. Almost immediately, a pickup zoomed
past our station. I ran up to get a closer look; it was a bunch of young men in the back of the
pickup trick who were wielding and waving the Confederate Flag around. They were also
singing the “Dixie” song out loud, and laughed pretty loudly.
I walked out of the station and made my way to the nearest local town. There was a lack of racial
diversity amongst the people, and a whole mass of people were sitting by the town square.
Intrigued (and slightly bewildered as I had not seen a single instance of interpersonal
socialization in New York), I joined the group to hear what was being said.
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“Ah, a new member to our circle!” exclaimed the old man in the center. “Now, what’s your
name, sir?”
I chuckled to myself. “Sir, you can just call me Sam.”
“Well then, Sam, we’re just about to narrate the story of Billy the Buck-Toothed Boy. Wanna
listen?”
“Sure,” I said.
“So one day a few decades back,” the old man begins. “We was struggling amidst the
Depression. Billy the Buck-Toothed Boy was the son of two long-time farmers. When the
Depression hit and the Dust Bowl happened, they lost their jobs. One day, when it seemed like
all hope was lost, Billy started bawling over and over. His parents rushed to him and comforted
him, and told him to have hope, and stay cheerful. Yet, even past the Depression era, Billy had to
struggle for all his life. He went in the mines, he worked in the fields, he did whatever he had to
do… to support his family and hope for the best.”
I was surprised that this “story” started in the Great Depression; so recent! Usually the stories I
heard were either folk tales or topics that directly related to the people I was talking to. Wait a
second….
“And so,” the old man continued. “Billy the Buck-Toothed Boy survives to this day. When
President Trump came around, and promised him the jobs back, he got hopeful. He cried during
Election Day, for he finally felt good things were going to happen. And two years later, he
realizes that it’s going to take time; but Billy the Buck-Toothed Boy remains hopeful as ever,
even as he has to work hard and continues to struggle.”
The old man smiled and showed his teeth. I expected what I saw; two buck-teeth protruding
outward amidst the rest of his teeth. The old man had just essentially recited his life story to the
crowd.
“Now, friends,” Billy the Buck-Toothed Old Man started. “Let’s have our feast!”
Servers brought out dishes upon dishes before my eyes. I saw turkeys and pecan pies, and butter
everywhere! Oh boy! I was ready to eat!
And I plowed through as many dishes as I could fit into my stomach. Yes, there are limitations
on how much you can eat, even if you are basically a manifestation of a country. I managed to
talk to a lot of people while I was eating; they were all die-hard Trump supporters, and many did
believe strongly in right-wing ideologies (with one even going so far as to purport wild
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conspiracy theories that I will not mention here). They were all pretty hospitable to me, however,
and I genuinely appreciated that.
My final stop was in California. I had wanted to see how the West Coast was shaping up to be; I
had heard rumors that it was growing more and more separate from the rest of the United States
ideologically, but I wanted to see it for myself.
I took a plane this time, and gosh the food was absolutely disgusting! It’s like the air hostess just
piled a plate of garbage before my eyes. Yuck! But, I did not have to put up with the ordeal for
too long; the plane arrived in Los Angeles within a couple of hours, and I was ready to truly
understand the West Coast experience.
As soon as I walked out of the airport, I felt the blistering heat. I looked around, however, and
everyone else was perfectly calm. I saw a couple by the side just strolling along, like they had no
other priorities in life. I took this image and contrasted it with the rushed life of New York, and I
was truly mind-blown. What else did I see?
I saw an entire street just filled with families just having fun; there was a bouncy-house and a
mini-water slide along the corner, and the children were all screaming with boisterous laughter.
Along the other side, I saw a video game store that was filled to the brim with teenagers playing
PS4 games; did they not have any regard for school or for education? Everyone was just having
fun and being happy here!
I found a tour guide near the airport and wanted to hear some stories about California from her.
“Yeah sure, I’m definitely free!”
We walked down the streets of LA, down towards the neighborhood of Beverly Hills. As the
scenery became more and more affluent, the tour guide started to talk.
“It all started with the main person behind our lifestyle, Mr. Edward B. Free. He saw how it was
like on the East Coast; people living their lives unhappily, constantly worried about the stressed
and strains that accompany everyday life. So, when he came to California, he decided to spread
his philosophy outward. And look how it is now! Look around you, Sam, everyone’s happy and
carefree!”
“Hmm,” I said. “But don’t you guys care about anything at all? Like advancing yourself in life?”
I paused, and then made my swing into politics. “Or politics or anything? Don’t you see how
everything’s going down all across the rest of the country?”
There was a 2-minute silence from the tour guide. All of a sudden, she burst out laughing.
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“Hahahaha…. You must be joking! Why should we care about other stuff like that? Have you
seen how powerful California is on its own? Why should we disrupt our carefree attitude to
worry about other people’s problems? Of course we dislike the President, but we have our own
world here on the West Coast! We have literally everything we need and want, and we all just
choose to live our own happy lives!!”
And that was the crux of what I wanted to get out of the Californian tour guide. These people
were vastly different from the New Yorkers, but were also similar in many ways. While the
Californians loved to just kill time and relax and the New Yorkers were rushed almost every
minute of every day, both literally didn’t care about what was going on with the rest of the
country, because they have their own lives to worry about. The South was definitely one of the
most unique places; Tennessee was vastly different from both New York and Cali, and I duly
noted that within my mind.
And with that, I said my goodbyes to the tour guide and made my way back to the airport. I
thought I had enough exposure to the current state of the American electorate for now. I needed a
looooooong break. Maybe Hawaii? Maybe international? Who knows? There’s more people to
meet and more locations to be immersed into, and the possibilities are endless.
Credit: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vKOb-kmOgpI -> “The Bubble” by SNL, gives
some inspiration to this story
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The Encounter
100 word microstory By: Abhishek Hariharan
Bryon opened the back door only to see a hooded figure
standing by the shrubbery. The figure unhooded themself,
revealing the face of a scarred old man.
“...Father?”
The old man nodded. Bryon, with tears streaming down
his face, ran up and gave his father an amorous hug.
“It’s been so long, my boy. But I’m so sorry that I must
do this...”
Suddenly, Bryon’s father pulled out a knife and stabbed
Bryon right in the back.
Falling rapidly to the ground, the last thing Bryon saw
was his father, turned away with the bloody knife in his
right hand.
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El-Corp: A 1000-Word Tale of Inhumanity
*This story was no way intended to be derogatory of the Rutgers Business School or its wonderful building. I literally passed by the building actually on my way to the Rutgers Cinema (5/19/18), and I just realized how the new modernist building would be a pretty cool place to integrate into this Creative Writing Story!*
12
The Regional Headquarters of the Ellison Corporation stood right before me as I came secretly to
the grounds surrounding the building. Oh my. It looked even more tremendous in person than
from the pictures I saw online. But I wasn’t focused on what was happening in front of me. I
raced around to the back side of the building, sneaking into the bushes.
I peeked up to see an armed barricade of soldiers escorting what seemed to be a high-profile
individual into the building. I took a closer look… Vice President Taney? She headed into the
building from a secret entrance in the back. No way this was some sort of tech-publicity stunt;
thing were going to be discussed. Big things.
12 Picture: https://www.constructionspecifier.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/10/Rutgers-Business-School.jpg
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I was immediately bewildered, but then again, this was clearly in line with the discoveries I had
made regarding El-Corp.
The world doesn’t know about the activities I’ve discovered in that building. And it’s not like the
world could ever know: if I even had the slightest intention of exposing the mountain of
corruption, they would know and I’d be purged.
This is the story of the greatest scam the world has ever seen. If you, the reader, are on the side
of truth, you will seek to spread the word of this as far as you can. Not through the media of
course; the government is totally supporting the Ellison Corporation. They will not only censor
you, but they will inflict the worst tortures possible and destroy your life.
Yes, it’s unthinkable. But this is the true nature of the world we live in today. Seem 1984-esque?
You know it.
My name is Rohit Vijayan. I’ve always been sort of a rebel, so journalism was right for me. But
this tale isn’t about who I am, no, this is about that building and the corporation behind it.
There’s some things you need to know about the Ellison Corp, or El-Corp, before I proceed with
my recollection of the tale. It was lauded as “humanity’s most philanthropic tech startup”; on the
surface, they seem to help poor families all across the world get uplifted out of poverty. You
remember that building I talked about before? Well, the beauty of the Regional HQ has helped
El-Corp to proceed with their “grand reinvention of the human mindset”.
Trust me, it’s all a facade.
El-Corp, with support of my home nation of Palaiyuta, was able to utilize third-world countries
as a testing ground for their armies. The “technology” El-Corp was utilizing was actually high-
tech military equipment that the Palaiyuta armed forces would use in their now decades-long war
against the Polarios to the north of us. Palaiyuta, which is exorbitantly rich due to its vast supply
of uranium and gold, was paying these third world countries and El-Corp massive amounts of
money.
My discoveries regarding El-Corp are a story to be told for another time, as the building is what
is central to my story.
As the young CEO of El-Corp, Harry Figaro, walked out of a secret door on the backside of the
El-Corp Regional Headquarters to shake their hands with VP Taney, I took out my old Polaroid
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camera to take a picture. I knew that the government would automatically track me down if I
were to take a photo on my cell-phone.
I immediately raced back to my car and drove away. Oh, man, how I would love to drive up to
the old Cerulean Times building and publish this online. I chuckled at the thought of it, even.
Who am I kidding? There’d be SWAT teams in the building pinning me down before I even
knew it. I called my friend Andy who had special contacts in the international media, notifying
him that I had a “special picture” for him to publish.
Suddenly, my car started swerving without my control. I was absolutely bewildered. Since when
was my car autonomous? I had been driving this for years without knowing it.
But I saw a small chip on the side of the steering wheel. It had that now famous double-crossed
snake and dove symbol.
El-Corp.
I was literally going in the opposite direction that I had come from; the car was directing me
back towards the Regional Headquarters!
It drove around the building, past the back entrance, and took me to the side of the building,
where a secret garage I hadn’t noticed before opened up.
The car drove in, self-parked, and opened the door. I shakily got out of my seat, nervous of what
was to come.
Two security guards came to my side and grabbed me. They injected me with some sort of
hallucinogenic drug, and I passed out.
When I came to, I was tied up on a chair and sat facing the CEO himself, Harry Figaro.
“Wow, you’re smarter than we ever realized!” he exclaimed, with a manner of intense curiosity.
He got up out of his seat. “To tell you the truth, I would have expected you to do something rash
long ago. But then again, had you even attempted to expose us in your mockery of a newspaper
journal, you would have been dead long ago.”
He got up, and stretched out his hand, pulling something out from his pocket.
Figaro put his gun right to my forehead.
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“Well, it was fun while it lasted.”
And I closed my eyes.
BANG.
Bewildered since I didn’t hear the pfft I would expect from a silencer, I opened my eyes again.
There was a hole in the ceiling of the Regional HQ building, probably from an explosive. I heard
the distinct sounds of a chopper.
I felt my body being dragged up, with the roaring shouts of Figaro still emanating from below.
I’ve been involved with a multinational organization dedicated to bringing down El-Corp ever
since.
Now you, the reader, need to take action. Spread word of this as far as you can.
You know what they’re capable of.
Don’t let them find you.
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Ankit Patel
Honestly, he’s pretty cool.
90
Free Tickets
I checked my inbox like I do every day, as was my habit. It had nothing to show me besides
the dozens of emails filling my spam folder, as was its habit. I refreshed the page. Finally! A single
email had decided to grace me with its presence.
Except when I looked at the subject, I was yet again disappointed. “Free travel tickets! Claim
yours now!” it said. Apparently, no spam filter is perfect. I clicked and held over the email and when
the box popped out, I dragged it into the spam trash can on the left side.
The page then refreshed. “Free travel tickets! They’re already yours!” I sighed and mouthed a
curse to the IT gods, hoping to damn the soul who had coded this failed filter to several late
caffeine-fueled nights of frustrating debugging. Again, I dragged the email into its rightful spot with
the Nigerian Princes, Make-Money-Quick job offers, unconvincing IRS audit warnings, and Pre-
Qualified Low Interest Credit Loan programs.
The page refreshed again. “These tickets have your name on them!” I dragged the email to
the left.
Again there was a refresh. “Don’t miss out! This is a once in a lifetime trip!”
Drag, refresh. “This is on us!”
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Drag, refresh. “Seriously, stop! These tickets are just for you, okay?” I gave up. From the
small preview underneath, I could see the “Congratulations! Claiming your tickets is simple and can
be done in three easy steps. First, print them….”
I slammed the laptop lid closed. I was pretty hungry and I could always go for a slice and
coke. I grabbed one of my North Faces from my closet full of mostly jackets and headed out the
door. Even when only walking down the stairs of my apartment, I could hear the honking of cars
from likely a four block long back up, one particularly furious cab driver yelling a slew of obscenities
at the person in the car in front of him who had forgotten to look up from her phone, and a siren of
an ambulance slowly moving through as people begrudgingly gave way for it to pass.
I came out the door to see the apartment manager, Fred, sitting on the steps just below me.
He was on his cell phone, spitting out rapid fire Spanish to whoever he was talking to. I had learned
Spanish in school and could understand a fair amount of it, but the way Fred spoke was too fast for
me to even comprehend one word before he was already on his next paragraph. As I sidestepped
around him, he noticed me, paused, showed me a courteous smile and nod, and then quickly
returned to his torrential spew of conversation.
A vent of steam sprouted up from a grate on the sidewalk ahead of me. When I got to it I
took comfort in its offered warmth. It also offered an unwelcome stench that eventually persuaded
me to leave my temporary refuge of warmth and onwards to dinner.
My usual straight path was impeded by steel scaffolding rising higher up than I cared to look
covering the sidewalk in front of me. Orange and white barriers lazily informed me that I would
have to walk around this block. It wasn’t really any problem. The dumpsters seemed to have been
recently emptied into this side street so that there were no loosely-tied, overfilled trash bags left to
give unglamourous peeks into their hideous contents.
Almost halfway to the pizzeria, I was almost tempted to give up walking and order food at
either the gyro or hotdog stands just next block. It was pretty chilly, and their yellow displays were
appealing. As I passed them, I pushed through the impulse. It would have sucked to eat outside in
the cold anyways. My bowels probably would have thanked me, if they could, for passing the
opportunity.
I was finally getting into an area with more people crowding the sidewalks, both your normal
New Yorkers and tourists alike. Everyone says it’s easy to spot tourists by looking for those who
look up to gape at the buildings. There wasn’t too much pretty architecture here. I found a better
way to separate tourists from your citizens—by watching them cross intersections. See, the thing is
that only tourists actually listen to the commands of the omnipresent white man and his orange
hand. Everyone else just gives a quick glance right and left and crossed whenever. Well, most
actually didn’t even care about looking to their sides. I still wonder sometimes how one becomes so
adept at weaving through annoyed drivers’ turns without looking up from one’s phone screen for
more than a second, only doing so to flip a quick bird at any driver who dares to honk.
I walked into Luigi’s Pizzeria to the comforting smell of slightly burnt crust and basil and
oregano and just enough extra garlic in the tomato sauce. “Hey how are ya?” boomed the big Italian
man, presumably Luigi, from behind the counter. “What can I getcha?”
“Just a pepperoni slice and a coke, please,” I answered.
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“Comin' right up.” He grabbed his pizza cutter from the counter below him and sliced a
generous portion from the half of pepperoni pie sitting on display. He took his pizza paddle,
effortlessly slid the piece from the display, opened the pizza oven behind him, and plopped the slice
in. He turned around a let out a warm grin. “So how’s the weather?”
“Brick.” I replied grimly.
He tsk tsked. “No worries. You’re in my place now. Warm up. Eat some pizza. Stay awhile.”
Suddenly there was a loud metallic clatter from the kitchen behind him. He quickly turned around. I
looked to follow where he looked. A nervous looking teen stood above a dropped tray. Luigi let out
a slew of Italian words, mostly distressed. His hands were also emphatically whipping through the
air.
The teen let out a small whimper vaguely resembling “sorry” and picked up the tray.
Luigi finally let out a hearty laugh and boomed, “Sorry, kiddo. Just be careful.” He picked up
the pizza paddle and slid the slice out of the oven. He placed the steaming hunk of Italian culinary
wizardry on a paper plate not quite big enough to keep the pizza’s corners within its confines. As I
pulled out my wallet to pay, he also grabbed a large plastic white cup and filled it to the brim with
coke. “Enjoy,” he gleamed, taking the money with one hand and giving me the cup with the other.
I picked up the plate, having to readjust it in my hand to ensure the slice didn’t fall off. I
made my way to the stools at the window. I slid aside some previous customer’s plate and
unfinished crust, placed my food gently down, and finally took a seat with a satisfied groan escaping
me. I grabbed a few overly thin napkins from the dispenser nearest to me, just in case. And then
figuring why not, I also grabbed the shakers with parmesan, oregano, and chili flakes and decorated
my slice further with red, white, and green.
As I feasted and pulled apart stubborn strings of cheese, I observed the street in front of me.
I loved how the City managed to house Mexican mini marts, Chinese takeouts, and Jewish delis all
comfortably next to each other. Their doors were closed for the cold, and the obscure posters and
advertisements that plastered and hid much of their windows couldn’t be described as anything but
shady, but their neon signs boasted happily that they were indeed “open,” open to any person of any
background for casual small talk and food and comfort. Much like New Yorkers.
There were many more pedestrians now, most wearing much nicer jackets and clothes, likely
coming back from their work downtown and looking for a quick bite before going home and
watching Bloomberg, or never sleeping to finish their projects, or doing whatever those people do.
Many were talking, too, but not with each other. They were next to each other but all in their own
worlds of business conversations through the magic of earphones and Bluetooth pieces. I wondered
what the chance of two people no more than a few hundred paces apart being in the same phone
call were.
Suddenly there was some commotion further to the right, out of my field of vision. I could
see a small crowd and some yelling. Curious, I got up, threw out my plate and cup, and walked out
with “arrivederci,” coming from the counter behind me. There was indeed a crowd. Most were just
going around the bubble of people, but some joined to see what was up, including me.
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As I weaved through two people, I heard, “You wanna go, son!?” from the middle. Some
tough guy who had a bad day and could tolerate it no longer apparently found someone to let his
stress out on. “Come on buddy! What are you doing?” He gruffly threatened some more.
As soon as I finally managed to push my way into view of what was going on, a small-
statured, odd-looking man was held by a much buffer opponent. The man ready to swing wore a cap
over his head, a bomber jacket, tight jeans, and sneakers I swore I had seen in the shop windows a
week earlier going for around 700 bucks. The man in his grip looked ironically out of place. He
couldn’t have been taller than five feet. His head was balding, but he seemed to be compensating
with a thick brown beard beneath. He wore a blindingly bright neon green raincoat, cargo slacks,
and socks and sandals. If he weren’t so clean, I would have sworn he was homeless.
The smaller man swung around and caught me with his eye. “Oh my lord! There he is!”
There’s my guy! I knew I would find you!” Reflexively I looked behind me. He must have been
talking to someone else. He broke out of the other man’s grip and ran over and hugged me. “I
thought I would never find you!”
The other looked at me, half confused. “You responsible for him?” He growled.
I replied, “No,” but the other didn’t listen.
“You make sure he don’t mess around next time.” He spit, brushed nonexistent dust off his
jacket, and parted through the crowd. They too dispersed now, leaving me with the strangest man I
had ever seen, even by New York standards.
He pulled an envelope from his pocket. “You forgot to print out your free tickets, so I got
them for you!”
“What tickets?” I asked.
He opened the envelope, revealing what looked like real plane tickets. “Didn’t you see the
emails?” I remembered them now. “I think you kept deleting them by accident.”
I rolled my eyes when he said ‘accident,’ but he didn’t notice. He just continued.
“Yup, round trip, California, even already got a room at this nice resort. The flight’s
tomorrow. But there’s a problem.”
“And what’s that?” I humored him.
“It’s a trip for two. Do you have someone else to go with you?”
“Uhh, no. I guess I’ll just go alone.”
“No! You must go with someone else! These tickets aren’t free! Well, they are, but you know
what I mean!”
“I don’t understand what you mean—”
“You must have someone else to take with you, some girlfriend, or roommate, or family, or
someone!”
“I don’t, bud.”
“Okay, fine! I guess I’ll have to go with you! It’s settled then!”
“Woah, what?”
“Rules are rules.”
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“Where are these rules?” This was getting kind of weird again, so I had to do some quick
thinking. “Wait! I completely forgot about work! Sorry man, I really can’t. I haven’t told my boss,
and I have no idea if he’ll give me vacation time on such short notice.”
“Oh, no worries! I already told him.”
“What?”
“Yeah, call him.”
I did call my boss. After a few rings, he picked up.
“Hello?” I heard.
“Oh, hey boss—”
“Hey, I heard you’re going to Cal! Have fun on the trip. I’ll talk to you later, kid.” He hung
up.
I looked back at the man in front of me. “So it’s final! You and me are going on a trip! Let’s
go to your place to pack!” I groaned, but he still didn’t notice.
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Polanian Lancers
1920 - Polanian Lancers on the patrol
Jakub Rozalski
The painting was quite intriguing. The soldiers were looking for something. I recognized the
Polish colors on the uniforms. The uniforms the two officers on horseback wore clearly had to be
from before World War II. An engraved gold-plated plaque underneath the painting said “1920 -
Polanian Lancers on the patrol.” I could just faintly remember back to high school World History
classes where some Polish-Russian War took place in 1920. But I did not remember there ever being
any mentions of bipedal mechs, or any type of technology to that extent in any of those lessons or
textbook pages.
“Interesting,” I couldn’t help saying to myself. I moved closer to the painting. Though I may
have at any other time resisted, knowing the crime it is to touch any painting with bare fingers, I
started to brush over the canvas. It was rough, then smoother, smoother, until there was no
resistance, no friction.
It was then I realized there was no painting anymore. I looked around me, turned around in
a surprised stupor. I was surrounded by an expanse of wheat fields, an ocean of gold shining and
shimmering in the wind. Here and there small groups of women in red and white hoods walked a
few paces, bent down, stood up again, and repeated the process with a natural rhythm, as if they
were wind up toys.
A horse’s snort pulled my attention back to the path I was on. Just meters from me I saw the
mech, it was much larger than I had initially thought it to be. I could see servos whirring back and
forth on the back of the craft. The shell looked unfeasibly thick for its height. It must have taken
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much engineering ingenuity to get such mass erect without constantly tipping like a drunkard. I
could imagine the pilot, now peeking his head out of the hatch on top, sitting within the machine.
He must have felt a great deal of confidence in the protection surrounding him; at least I would
enjoy that metal luxury if I were to find myself in some 20th century battle. The gun held in the arms
of the mech was just as formidable. The barrel of the firearm was only just shorter than the entire
mech. The bayonet at the end was as large as my leg, and certainly was sharper. I would not want to
find myself on that end of such a weapon. The daintiest form of the whole contraption were the
occasional puffs of fumes that stretched out of the exhaust on top.
The nearest soldier moved towards me, still on his horse, noticeably using the height
difference to make clear his position of power over me. His head was angled slightly upwards also,
furthering that point. He halted just in front of me and only observed me for a few moments. Not
knowing what to do I looked back up at him. I could gain nothing. I looked past him, back at the
mech. The woman I had ignored earlier in my awe for the machine still stood before it, speaking
frantically to the pilot, whose head could be seen nodding at whatever details the woman in red
hood said before him. The other soldier, presumably the commander of this party half-listened, but
mostly was looking around, further down the path and at the infinite expanse of crops. I looked
back at the man still staring me down. I didn’t know what to do, and out of helplessness I opened
my mouth, not really knowing what I was to say.
“Podaj swoją firmę!13” The Polish soldier had taken the responsibility from me. I didn’t
understand what he said, only that it was stern and demanded an answer. I looked at him helplessly,
my mouth once again agape. “Mów chłopcze!14” By now the three others on the path were paying
full attention to me and the man in front of me.
“Chodź tu,15” The commander said to his soldier. The man in front of me looked at me, and
flicked his head towards the commander. The intention was clear, I moved slowly towards him. My
palms were sweaty, I could feel cold sweat running down my back, of all places to be, I didn’t expect
to find myself in Poland--I just wanted to see some art!
“Please sir I don’t know why I’m here I’m not even from here this makes no sense.” I
blurted out, now in front of the commander who had gotten off his horse. He looked at me
confused at first, but then some sense of realization entered him.
“Ah, you are angielski, yes? I speak little English.” His voice was somehow comforting--or
maybe it was just that I was finally able to understand something in this situation. “What you do
here?”
“Uhhh, sir, I don’t know!” I replied.
“This is Polska. Rosja there,” He pointed to the distance behind me. I didn’t get why he was
asking. The pilot in the mech now had a renewed understanding, hearing what his commander said.
He looked down at the woman standing at the mech in front of him.
13 State your business! 14 Speak, boy! 15 Come here.
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“Czy rozpoznajesz go?16” He asked her. She looked at me, confused. I looked into her eyes,
pleadingly. Somehow I knew that my life might have depended on it. Her eyes had neither
confidence nor assurance nor any hatred, maybe at most there was fear.
She looked back at the pilot. “Nie wiem,17” she said, shrugging, looking defeated. The pilot
looked at me again, now there was some anger to him also. “Ale on jest tylko chłopcem!18” She now
yelled at him. She looked to me again now. Yes, I could see fear in her eyes now. I wanted to ask
her, what this all meant, what did she want for me to do?
The commander then caught my attention again, saying, “Are you Russia spy?”
It clicked in my head then. They must be looking for some supposed spy who had crossed
their border. Maybe the woman had seen him in the distance, and reported it to this patrol. But now,
the suspicion was on me. “Look I’m not a spy, I just wanna go home.” I mumbled quietly. I was
scared, I was tired. I did just want to go home.
“Boy, speak loud,” the commander said.
By now the other soldier had gotten closer with his horse. “Zapomnij o dowódcy! Zabiję go
teraz!19” He yelled aggressively. He pointed his lance at my side. Clearly he had no intention of
believing in my innocence.
“Odsuń żołnierza!20” The commander yelled back to his soldier. He was reaching for his
sidearm. He looked to me again, “Yes or no?” He asked now, coldly.
The lance at my side was still uncomfortably close. I was sure that if I stumbled even an inch
towards it, I would feel the cold metal letting loose some warm blood. I threw my hands up, “Look
can we just talk?!”
“Tak, powiedział tak!21” The soldier yelled, almost excitedly. Thankfully he had in this
excitement at least pulled his lance slightly away from me. Was I finally in the clear? “Dowódco, czy
mam pozwolenie?22” He looked to his commander.
The commander looked to me, surprised. His arm moved away from his holster. “Why?” He
asked me. I had no answer. I had no understanding. He took a deep breath in and moved his hand
to his forehead, chest and shoulders, making the sign of the cross. “This is for country,” I didn’t
know if he was saying that for me or for himself. “Udzielam ci pozwolenia,23” He said to his soldier.
The soldier drew his lance back, preparing for a deep jab into my flesh. This was it, I closed
my eyes, I’m not sure whether it was fear or acceptance. Suddenly, I heard a loud slap and promptly
a horse’s whinny. My eyes opened, I saw the soldier yelling as he and his horse galloped off into the
field. The woman stood next to me. She grabbed my shoulders, pulled me towards her, yelling
16 Do you recognize him? 17 I don’t know 18 But he’s just a boy! 19 Forget it, commander! I will kill him! 20 Move back, soldier! 21 Yes, he said yes! 22 Commander, do I have permission? 23 I grant you permission.
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“Uciekaj, chłopcze, tak szybko, jak potrafisz!24” and then shoved me away. I didn’t need to be told
twice that now was the time for me to run.
Behind me I heard a metal thud, a shrill steam whistle, an engine puffing with vigor,
mechanical whirring. Then THUMP THUMP THUMP. That must be the mech chasing after me.
Would I be able to outrun it? There was a loud bang. In the next instant I saw a large bullet zoom
over my head, and another supersonic crack deafened me. I didn’t have time to consider how lucky I
had just been. I kept running as fast as I could. But how long could I keep this up? Surely the mech
would catch up with me. I had lungs. Metal did not.
I turned my head to gauge my chances. The machine was indeed closing in, the bayonet
pointed straight out towards me. Many women on the side had stopped their work to gape at this
commotion. Further behind I saw the woman in red on her knees at the feet of the commander,
crying loudly and yelling at him in words I could never understand. He only looked into the distance
solemnly. I tripped on something on the path ahead of me. I felt time slow down as the mech
glinted, getting closer and closer. As I was getting lower and lower to the ground I saw the waving
sea of golden wheat turn into a brown grave. My head hit it first.
When I looked up I found myself indoors. The ground was not dirt, but finely waxed wood.
The wall in front of me was decorated with an ornate wallpaper. I got up. Turning around, I saw the
painting of the Polanian Lancers on the patrol. They were looking for someone.
24 Run away, boy, as fast as you can!
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Sanctos
Elcio walked around his rinky dink hover drive before entering, keys in hand. “It definitely
has seen better days,” he thought as he started the vehicle, only three of its four engines wheezing
alive. He adjusted his rear view mirror, quickly taking a second to look at his own himself: an old
brown leather jacket over a simple and clean white t-shirt with a long since faded pair of jeans. He
adjusted his glasses and slicked back his brown hair before thinking about his craft again. It was
born as a strong mining device, built to enter and exit the tough asteroid belts and mining planets
with tons of precious loads, and made to withstand blows from the toughest space debris. The
vehicle hadn’t aged well, but it served Elcio fine enough, who only bought it to take him to class
every day.
The small television screen on the central dashboard played the daily news program Elcio
had a habit of listening to. “Welcome to Aqueo News, your source of all news from every corner of
the Aequoan Empire!” The screen briefly showed a clip of the disinterested Emperor Otios
pretending to smile for his empire’s public broadcast before focusing again on the main news
reporter sitting behind her neat desk. “We bring you a quick update from the outer rings of our
galaxy, from the small colony planet of Quisquilla. Weeks before, a stray asteroid, Sanctos III, was
found to be on a collision course with the planet, with a time of impact to take place today. Though
the size of Sanctos is not too big by any standards, its impact with the planet could wipe out all life
in the colony. Most modern small mining drives could knock the object of course, but no mining
companies are in the area, except one. Conluv Industries has struck a deal with Emperor Otios. In
return for forgiveness for previously polluting the minor colony planet Pernicies to inhabitability
months ago with their mining and manufacturing operations, the major corporation has agreed to
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personally deflect the asteroid from Quisquilla today.” The program went on discussing the size of
Conluv Industries ship and how it could easily deflect the asteroid, and then continued with the
history of the company and its current profits.
Elcio asked himself in his soft toned voice why the program didn’t talk more about
Quisquilla and its people, “They could have easily interviewed people here, they’re all so unique and
interesting.” He quickly answered his own question, looking up, “But then again we’re just a tiny
colony far away from the capitol and its major concerns.”
He saw Conluv Industries’ flagship looming overhead in orbit. It was a massive vessel,
rivalling even the size of Quisquilla itself. The ship was riddled all over with smokestacks spewing
out dark gases from the millions of manufacturing operations occurring within. So much had already
been spilled out from the ship’s orifices that the nearby star’s light was partially eclipsed, like a dark
claw grasping at the golden orb, and the sky was significantly darkened. However gloomy the scene
made others feel, Elcio didn’t worry too much about it; he knew the winds would eventually
dissipate the taint after the massive ship left. He was too thankful as it was to blame Conluv, it was a
blessing enough that they could save the planet from obliteration.
Not long passed until Elcio finally pulled into his parking spot at Finmor College. He took
one of the furthest spots from the main buildings, as usual, though much of the lot was still empty.
He didn’t mind, knowing that he could use the exercise. It alone wouldn’t burn his slightly
overweight body back into shape, but it was better than nothing. Besides, he knew many of the
younger students would be happy finding a relatively close spot.
He took his seat in the front row of the classroom setting down his notebook, pen, and
habitual energy drink on the table. TEACHING CHILDREN 202 was written neatly on the top left
corner of the whiteboard in the front of the room. The professor cleared his throat from his seat
behind his desk, the gruff sound moving around the mountain of paper sitting in front of him.
Young students still lazily entered through the door in a bored shuffle.
“Laast oone iin pleease cloose the dooor,” the professor droned, managing to drag out each
vowel as he does, “Thaank yoou.”
“Todaay wee wiill diiscuuss the teeaching of geeoograaphee.” The professor went on for
what seemed a lifetime unenthusiastically preaching about the richness of Quisquilla’s ores. He
spoke for an apparent hour about the tremendous value of the planet if all its raw resources were
sold. He slowly remarked, “Noow iiff oonly I weere a miiner, I woould bee siitting oon myy oown
throone of caash, I woouldn’t bee teeaching y’aall,.” He looked around begging for laughs at his
lousy attempt of a joke. The only chortles came from those who wished the last part of it was true.
He spoke for another eon on the history of mining laws in the empire. He could have easily said,
“But any planet with living habitants on it are banned from being mined since so and so laws were
passed fifty years ago,” But the professor seemed to have a passion for dilating time so that it slowed
to a halt inside his room.
He took a sip of the cheap green apple flavored energy drink to stay awake and thought of
someday being able to teach children at some newly found school, and of the happiness and joy he
would see from their cute lessons together.-+-
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Finally, the professor announced for the students to pair up and make example lesson plans
relating to geography. Some got up and stretched their arms wide, letting yawns escape them, and
those who had already fell asleep were woken with light taps on the shoulders. Elcio turned his head
to his left and politely smiled where another young student was blinking awake from his rest.
“Huh? Oh… right yeah sure I’ll partner with you,” He said now fully returned to
consciousness. He took a sip from his bottle of water and cleared his throat as Elcio diligently drew
up a basic lesson plan in his notebook, “Honestly man, I regret taking this class. Yeah sure it’s not
hard or anything, but I definitely could have filled my credits in a way less boring way.”
Elcio briefly looked up and smiled with some sympathy before returning to work. “Well hey
man, thanks for doing the work at least,” the student leaned back in his chair and pulled out his
phone, “Damn, though, I have no signal. I don’t remember this room being a dead spot.” He slid
his phone back into his pocket, rested his hands behind his head and shut his eyes. “Wake me up if
you need anything, ‘kay?”
Elcio looked around. Nearly no one else in the room was doing much work. He looked back
at his own hands now, with chubby fingers and light patches of brown hair on the back and
wondered if it was even worth finishing the lesson. He wagered to himself that he was likely the only
one who wanted to be an actual teacher, besides the professor, of course. He decided he was happy
doing what he did, and would continue to do so even if no one else did. “Maybe these guys don’t
care, but someone has to look out for their kids,” he thought.
Elcio just finished writing the planned lesson’s objectives when the classroom’s door
violently swung open. The student next to Elcio nearly fell off his chair as the door crashed against
the wall. A distraught dean now occupied its space, “Go home! Class is over, return to your
families!” Everyone in the room had a puzzled look, “Look, it’s not a joke, just go home and stay
safe!” Serious or not, many of the students welcomed the opportunity to leave. Elcio felt no choice
but to leave too when his professor sighed and walked out.
In the lot, some ran to their in vehicles in panic and took off while others looked in dumb
wonder. Elcio calmly followed. Halfway to home in his hover drive, it finally occurred to him to
turn on the television in the console and maybe find out about what had interrupted the day. Oddly,
though, no channel worked: no news, no shows, no ads, only static.
Padma, his wife, was a slender figure dark figure with long wavy black hair tied in a messy
bun standing at the door when Elcio arrived. Before he even entered the house, words spilled out in
a torrent from her, “Ohmygod, as soon as we found out, Mrs. Oswald let me return home,” Elcio
noticed she still had her maid apron on, “I got home and so worried that you wouldn’t come home
in time. Thank god you’re here. I don’t know what I would do if I were alone when it happens.
Whatdowedo whatdowedo whatdowedo!”
“Padma! What even happened?” He asked, still in the dark.
“You mean you haven’t heard? How!? How?” She stepped towards him and hugged him
tight before pulling him inside. “Let me show you. Ohgod ohgod ohgoddd!”
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She gestured inside towards the dining table. The old radio had been dug up from their
basement, rarely used. Padma turned the volume knob. Elcio saw that the frequency showed the
emergency channel. A tone played just before an automated message began. “RESIDENTS OF
QUISQUILLA,” The robotic warning voice blared, “PLEASE RETURN TO YOUR FAMILIES.
CONLUV HAS CUT ALL CONTACT WITH AQUEO. SANCTOS III STILL ON COURSE.
MASS DESTRCUTION IMMINENT.” The tone played again, this time revealing itself to be part
of the SOS signal. Elcio turned off the radio before the message started again.
“What? Does that mean that they couldn’t stop the asteroid?” He asked his wife.
“Couldn’t? I thought won’t! They definitely can stop it. This must be some joke. Why
wouldn’t they stop the asteroid?” She looked at her husband, as if expecting him to offer a wise
answer.
“I can’t see how—” Suddenly the pieces fell together. Just coincidentally he had found those
pieces in his class today. “Of course. The law.” He muttered only parts of his thoughts being
verbalized, “Our minerals and ores… The asteroid… would make this inhabitable… They could call
it an accident… The profit.”
“What?” Padma looked at her husband move towards the window. He hadn’t seen it on the
way back through the dark smog, but now looking for it, Elcio could see the asteroid, Sanctos, larger
than ever, and the Conluv Industries ship, imposing and unmoving, and noticeably, not in between
the asteroid and the planet.
Elcio walked to the nearby couch and fell to a seat, now unusually pale. “Either way, I don’t
think anyone will do anything about that asteroid.” He stared off blankly at the wall.
Padma plopped down besides her husband and started weeping on his shoulder. “No one
will save us? Are we going to die?” she could only manage anything else she wanted to say choked
out by uncontrollable sobs and shivering.
“Everything will be okay, you’ll see,” He lied to her and himself. He too was feeling the wells
loosen from his eyes. Closing them, his thoughts played horrible images, first of Sanctos III making
impact with the surface as overheated rocks are thrown in the air and a shockwave rapidly radiating
outwards. Next he saw his home, himself, Padma instantly being blown away in an overwhelming
cloud of debris. He forced his eyes open before the shockwave reached others, Finmor College, or
any children. His expression had changed after thinking of the effects. Tears were still in his eyes,
but there was now a stubborn resolve.
“If no one else will, I shall.” Elcio declared. He got up and started towards the door.
“Elcio! Elcio! Where are you going?!” Padma jumped up going again to her husband and
hugging him.
Her touch softened him. He held her tightly again, for maybe the last time. He took off his
leather jacket and put it around her shoulders. After a deep breath, he looked into her eyes, and with
sadness said, “Padma, I have to. I have to stop it, I have the mining craft. I can do it.”
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“Are you out of your mind? You’ll die!” She held his arms, not wanting to be away from her
husband in her last moments.
“Everyone will,” Elcio said solemnly before loosening his wife’s grip and walking away.
Padma could do no more, Elcio was out the door and inside his hover drive. Padma watched
as the three engines wheezed the bulky vehicle out of the atmosphere, towards the asteroid until
tears blurred her vision too much for her to see the love of her life vanishing into the dark sky.
He wished he had a bigger vehicle. He wished Sanctos was smaller. He wished the asteroid
would just vanish. He wished for a lot of things, but most importantly, he wished that he hadn’t left
his wife. The rush of heroism had since passed. Elcio was instead now a nervous body of flesh held
onto an old mining device by only ten white knuckles on the steering wheel. But Elcio looked
around, he was close to leaving the atmosphere of the planet, too far to turn back without shame.
But then again, who was there to shame him? Besides Padma, no one saw him, no one knew
what he was doing, no one cared. He could tell he finally was out of the atmosphere as his craft
shuttered, the engines off temporarily as they automatically changed settings for interplanetary flight.
Elcio sobbed alone, drifting in space towards Sanctos.
Minutes later, the drive had made all necessary changes to the engines and reignited. Elcio
too had run out of tears. “I will do it for everyone on Quisquilla,” he thought, allowing his sadist
thoughts to be overrun by the surge of adrenaline coursing through him as the asteroid neared him.
He looked now with only resolve at Sanctos III, the enemy of his times, and possibly the end of
himself.
He accelerated towards it before realizing the stupidity of that action. If he hurtled towards
the asteroid at a high speed, he knew he would be nothing more than a metal pancake. Quickly he
killed his engines, hoping that his speed was not already too high. He looked as he came closer and
closer to the surface of Sanctos. He thought he was nearly 500 meters away, 400, 300, 200. He
couldn’t help but close his eyes then.
Elcio felt himself lurch forward violently, a deafeningly loud screech of metal came from the
craft. A gasp Elcio as he opened his eyes, believing this would be the last sight he would ever see.
Small metal parts were floating away from his hood, a corner crushed. Surprisingly, that seemed to
be it. Elcio waited only a moment more before realizing that he was in fact not dead.
He wiped away beads of sweat from his forehead and swept a few strands of his slick hair
back with his white sleeve. Taking three deep breaths, he slowly turned up his engines. There was a
concerning jolt and another loud crash from the vehicle, but it still continued to work. Many red and
orange warning signs lit his dashboard, but Elcio could not understand what any of them meant, and
kept going. He felt the slightest bit of motion after many tense moments as the mining device finally
gained control over Sanctos.
Elcio didn’t know what to do now. Despite having slowed down the asteroid, he was certain
he could not push the object out of Quisquilla’s gravity well with his craft alone. Suddenly, out of
the corner of his eye, he saw the Conluv Industry flagship still unmoved from its spot above the
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planet. Finally with a plan, he tilted the thrusts of his engines so that the asteroid started
approaching the large vessel.
When he saw the ship light up with red alert lights and its engines turn on to face the
asteroid unexpectedly in its path, Elcio reversed off Sanctos and turned to start back down towards
his planet. He could imagine the klaxon sirens blaring aboard it as the people aboard panicked and
wondered how Sanctos III mysteriously shifted its position to come into contact with them instead
of colliding with the planet as they had planned.
A week later, the television on the center console played the Aqueo News jingle and played
the standard clip of Emperor Otios. The news anchor cheerily spoke from her desk, “And now we
show you the many celebrations in the capitol today as Emperor Otios held a ceremony to honor
the work of Conluv Industries.” The screen showed Otios shaking hands with the CEO of Conluv.
“Just a week ago Conluv saved the planet of Quisquilla, a minor colony, from doom by deflecting a
small asteroid, Sanctos III, from collision with said planet. They did this despite taking heavy
damage on their flagship, a modern marvel of engineering—”
Elcio turned off the television. He took a sip of black coffee Padma had brewed. The cup
had taken the place of his usual energy drink and had a drawn heart on the side. Elcio smiled looking
at the once again clear blue sky mentally reminding himself to thank his wife. The front-right corner
of his rinky dink hover drive was crushed, but Elcio didn’t mind. It was good enough to bring him
to class every day, he thought, as its two working engines landed him in his usual parking spot at
Finmor.
105
Pick Up Game
You turn your back to the basket, raising your arms. In your head you look like Tom Cruise walking away from an explosion. Amir is looking up behind you at the ball. You hear the chains swish. “What now son?” You say proudly.
Amir looks dumbfounded. Then you hear him pierce the otherwise still air with his guffawing, which now has him uncontrollably on the ground clutching his stomach. “What man?” You ask.
He doesn’t respond, still unable to escape the laughter. Finally, he looks up at you, suppressing the majority of it. “You missed. That’s the biggest brick25 I seen in a while, boy.”
You turn around and see the ball in the dim light rolling further away from the court. You must have hit the chains from underneath the basket. So much for bragging to Amir that you’re a young Steph Curry26.
Amir gets up and goes after the ball. You follow him with your eyes as he returns to the three-point line. You hold your breath as he breathes in, bends his knees, and has his ball in his hands just in front of his chest. His poise looks daunting to you. In that moment you see him as a sniper doing a thousand calculations in his head to land a shot miles away with pinpoint accuracy. Just as quickly he explodes from the form, arms extending, jumping up high enough that you have to tilt your head up to see the release. The ball leaves him. The trajectory is perfect. The backspin is
25 Slang for a badly missed shot 26 Steph Curry is a professional basketball player in the NBA known for his superior accuracy
106
beautiful. The shot banks off of the backboard and cleanly bumps its way into the basket with a clinking of the chains.
You quickly snap out of the allure before you think Amir notices. Right now, you can think of one thing and one thing only: you must beat Amir. “Alright, I’m starting with ball then,” you hear him say. Did he notice you gawking at his shot? You hope not.
You take your position just above the free throw line, Amir stands just beyond the three27. He bounces the ball towards you to check28. You take a breath, focusing in. This is your environment. This is your kingdom. You are champ. You got this.
27 Short for three-point line 28 Each play in a pickup basketball game is started by performing a “check,” where the offensive player passes the
ball to the defensive player, and then that player passes it back
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The Passenger
I made sure everything was still in my cloth backpack, tying its leather straps together. It was my eighth day working in the city; I had yet to lose any of my belongings, and I wanted to keep it that way. I would be getting off at the next station. I picked up my bag, and moved towards the doors of the train, when I saw the familiar sight of my stop was replaced by a station horrifyingly alien. I was immediately put off by the dimness. My watch indicated a time of 3:02 AM, so the
dark was no stranger. However, the familiar artificial glow of yellow lamps was replaced by a blood red glow. The platform in front of me stood empty.
BING-BONG. I jumped at the usual two-tone chime that indicated the train had stopped and the doors were opening. Swishhhhh. Did I really want to walk out? Maybe I had accidentally passed my stop—or maybe it was yet to come. Oddly, I saw no sign indicated the station name in front of me. Perhaps I could find the name in the front or the back of the station.
So I took a step out to gather a better understanding of my strange setting. I was near the middle of the train and the platform. I looked left, towards the front, but saw nothing besides darkness and red glow. Odd, I thought. I looked right, towards the back. There stood a figure on the platform just in front of the doors of the last car.
He wore a pea coat over what I assumed was a suit—I could see his tan slacks and loafers below. He also wore a scarf around his neck, a bit unnecessary, I thought as autumn had just barely begun, but perhaps this individual was used to much warmer weather.
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“Hullo? Sir? Do you know what station this is?” I called out. The figure slowly turned his head towards me. I squinted to examine his face. His eyes were pitch black. No pupils, no iris, just black. I felt my soul falling into that void—BING BONG.
A blood curling screech was let out from the creature’s now wide mouth. Without thought I jumped back as the train doors closed again with another swishhhhh. I suddenly felt exhausted, plopped myself down on to the nearest seat, and let a sigh escape me. Maybe I should have looked into moving into earlier hours. Clearly, these night commutes must have had been taking their toll on me. I thought to maybe get some shut eye until the next station, at least then I could find a way back home with some energy.
“This is a reminder that quiet hours are currently in effect at this time. Please keep all conversation, music, or any other noise to a minimum. Thank you.” I jounced, forgetting that the train regularly made such ironically loud announcements about keeping quiet at some intervals. I was going to close my eyes again when I heard the same blood curling screech from just earlier far in the back of the train. Horror returned to me as I came to a horrible realization. I had dropped my bag at the last station.
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Allison Wong
I like to draw, play with my dogs, play video
games, read, and do jigsaw puzzles. I’ll be
going to NJIT next year for industrial design.
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Pineapple Pizza
By Allison Wong
Terry was watching TV, waiting for his pineapple pizza to arrive. He was a well respected
pizza connoisseur and his reputation would be absolutely ruined if others found out, but it was his
guilty pleasure and he couldn’t help himself.
Ding! The doorbell sounded and he vaulted out of his couch to the door. The pizzaman was
there, holding a box. “One large pineapple pizza, that’ll be-”
“Shush!” Terry cried out, and handed him a 20. “Keep the change and keep this a secret.”
He grabbed the box and slammed the door, heart pounding. He peeked from the window to watch
the pizzaman walk back to his car, and glanced around his block to see if anyone could have heard.
Luckily, none of his neighbors were out. He’ll have to call the pizza company and complain about
this lack of discretion.
He went back to his couch, shaken from the encounter but excited for what he had acquired.
He opened the lid to reveal the glorious pizza, covered generously in pineapple chunks. He ate one
slice and then another. It had been so long since he was able to indulge like this. Suddenly, in the
middle of of a bite, his cell phone beeped.
He read the text from a friend, “We’ll be here soon, be ready to discuss onion on pizza.”
Terry’s heart sunk, he had completely forgotten about their meeting. They could be here any
minute and there was a large, pineapple pizza sitting on his table. Without wasting a moment, he
took the box and ran to the kitchen. He flung open the fridge but to his horror it was completely
full. There was nowhere to hide it. He saw the trashcan in the corner of his eye but the mere thought
of throwing away his delicious pizza was unbearable. He went back and slid it under the coffee
table, a poor hiding spot but his only choice, praying that they wouldn’t bring it up.
He looked down at what he was wearing. Jeans and a button down, that would have to do
- oh god, there was a pineapple stain on his shirt. It would completely give him away. He sprinted
to the laundry room and threw it into the washing machine and put on another shirt.
There was a knock on the door. He was hyperventilating from the close call but forced
himself to keep his composure. He went to open the door and his two friends and fellow pizza
experts were there.
“Hey Terry,” James said. He and Melissa walked in and plopped themselves on the couch.
“So, I know you approve of onion in everything pizzas, but what about onion with sardine. Melissa
thinks it’s a great culinary combination, but it’s just weird.”
“You haven’t had it made properly,” Melissa said, “It’s delicious, you should try the one
at the pizza place down the street.”
“Really,” James said, “It’s an assault on every sense.”
“Hey,” she said, “at least it’s not pineapple pizza.” They laughed together and Terry tried
to join in but his chuckle was a bit too forced. They turned to him, “what do you think?” Terry
could feel the sweat trickling down his neck. The box was sticking out from under the table, he
tried not to look at it but it seemed so obvious. The pineapple smell was wafting out too, he was
going to have to get them out of here.
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“You’re right, it can’t be as bad as that. Let’s go out to that place and try it right now and
we can settle this.” He went to get his coat and ushered them urgently towards the door.
“I guess we can. Uh, wait a moment, I think there’s a mouse here.” James said pointing
below the table. They all went over to take a look. Indeed, there was a little white mouse nibbling
at the edge of the pizza box, trying to get in.
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Visiting Family
By Allison Wong
Texas
I was down in Texas for the first time to see my brother. God knows why he moved there,
it’s swelteringly hot and full of crazy people, but I guess that’s why it’s perfect for him. A friend
of my brother, Bill, picked me up when I got there. I had never met him before but he was plenty
friendly. He wore an actual cowboy hat and greeted me with “howdy there.” I hadn’t brought a lot
of stuff so it was quick getting into his car and hitting the road. I just had to move the rifles in his
backseat around a bit to make room for my bag. He blasted country music and he sung along to a
song about a truck. Barren land stretched far all around us and we didn’t pass a single other car in
20 minutes. Most peculiarly though, I noticed that every billboard we passed was about God. One
said, “What would Jesus do,” another “Have you prayed today,” and the one that was approaching
read, “save yourself, go to church.”
I couldn’t hold back my curiosity and asked Bill if everyone was religious here. He laughed
and said, “Of course, y’all don’t want to go to hell.” He took a moment to spit a huge loogie out
the window, then launched into a full on story. “Why I knew a guy who didn’t. He was Bob Dunkin
and that man was a stubborn one. He didn’t go to church like the rest of us. We warned him, we
did. But he wasn’t a good God-fearing Christian like the rest of us. Wasn’t raised right, I tell you.
He rode his horse around town and you’d always see him at the pub or diner, but never at the
church, nope. Well one day, the pastor asked everyone for donations to the church. We all pitched
in of course, but not Bob. He acted like he was too good for the rest of us. He had been testing his
luck for too long and this time God punished him. He was riding his horse back home that night.
It was stormy and a lightning strike scared a herd of cattle near him. They stampeded in panic and
ended up knocking Bob off his horse and tramplin’ him to death. His horse was wandering around
the next morning, and his body was a bloody mess when we found him. We thought it was a murder
at first, but we saw the lighting mark on the ground and the hoof imprints and pieced the story
together. It’s such a shame. He was nice guy just too arrogant and didn’t believe in God and look
what happened to him.” He shook his head slowly. “You just can’t save those who don’t want to
be saved.”
“Well,” I said, “that is very tragic.” I had been nodding along to the story the whole time,
not knowing what to say.
“It sure is. And whenever anyone questions God, I ask them if they want to end up like
Bob Dunkin. Oh, look we’re here.” I looked out the window and saw my brother’s ranch. I have
to say that I was quite relieved getting off and I learned a lot about Texas.
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Florida
I had been visiting family and decided to go see my mother and sister next in Florida. My
mother retired there and my sister is recovering from her bath salt addiction. They live together in
a little trailer park and I wasn’t sure if there would be enough room for me to stay for the week,
but they insisted that I come so here I am. I had arrived at the airport half an hour ago and was
driving to their place when I decided to stop by a bar to get some food.
I ordered a burger and key lime pie, and had just received them when a large man sat down
next to me. He had long hair and a scraggly beard, all gray, and his eyes were sunken in. There
was a large scar on his cheekbone and I tried to look away but he had already caught my glance.
“Want to know how I got this scar?” He smiled, revealing some missing teeth.
“Sure, if you don’t mind.”
“Well, it was ten years ago. I was hanging out with my friends on a boat. We were
drinking a bit and doing some meth, you know. I’m not sure how it happened, I must have stumbled
off the side because I suddenly found myself in the water. They tried to come back for me but their
steering was so poor that they kept missing me by too far. I decided to just swim back to the shore,
we weren’t far out from the lake. But then I saw this huge alligator swimming towards me. I’m
talking about 12 feet at least.” He stretched his arms to show how big, but realized it was futile
and pointed from one end of the room to the other. “It would have filled up that entire space.”
“That must have been terrifying.” I said, not sure how he could have survived that.
“It was! I knew I couldn’t outswim it, I had to fight. I took a stick floating nearby
and when it got close enough I whacked it on the nose over and over. That pissed it off real bad
and it lunged for me. I grabbed onto it with a bear hug, hanging on for my life. It tried flipping in
the water but I held on and kept hitting it with my stick. I saw out of the corner of my eye that the
speedboat was coming back again, and this time it was heading straight towards us. I let go of the
gator and swam away as fast as I could. It tried to follow me but it didn’t get far before the boat
hit it and split it right in half. Alligator guts splattered all around and the body wiggled around
before it went limp and dead. I managed to climb into the boat after that. We all agreed it would’ve
been a shame to leave the body, so we started hauling up whatever parts we could find. I was
reaching over to get the latter half of it by the tail when I slipped and hit my face on the side of the
boat. And that’s how I got this scar” he said, pointing to his cheek.
“Wow, you didn’t get any other injuries… from the actual alligator?.”
“Not a single other scratch. We got most of the alligator and made shoes and bags
from it. That’s what I’m wearing right now.” he kicked up his feet to show his alligator skin boots.
“That’s amazing.”
“So watch out around the lakes here, there are alligators everywhere.” I nodded and
reminded myself to cancel the fishing trip with my mom and sister this evening.
Overall it was very interesting seeing my family again. It’s been a long while and I got to
see a lot of new places. Folks sure are different around the US.
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Dinosaur Parade
By Allison Wong
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My eyes were immediately drawn to the colorful painting. It showed dinosaurs walking
down marble steps with humans. The label said “Dinosaur Parade” by James Gurney. It was
completely fantastical and yet seemed so realistic at the same time. I leaned in to see the small,
intricate details. Everything from the flags, to clothes, and flowers and buildings were carefully
rendered. I could almost hear the festive chattering of voices and the loud soft steps as they
marched on.
“Ma’am, please don’t touch the painti-” I turned to see the security guard but I was
suddenly being pulled forward. I fell, bracing myself to crash into the painting, but landed on a
smooth marble floor instead. The noise surrounded me completely and it was a shock from the
quiet room I had just been in. There were trumpets blaring, the sounds of people laughing and
cheering, and a loud bellow almost like a… a..
I looked up and couldn’t believe it. There was the parade right in front of me. A giant
brontosaurus, the size of a house, slowly lumbered ahead. It bellowed again, a deep boom that
shook the ground, and its long neck swayed from side to side as it looked at the crowd. On its back
perched a shimmering golden carriage with a few people inside waving, obviously the star of the
show. Two people sat at the crook of the brontosaurus’s neck, and it was being led with a red collar
by a small raptor. A triceratops and a duck-billed dinosaur were in front, carrying people on their
back as well. Children in white robes walked beside them and sang and tossed flowers, and a little
baby triceratops ran energetically out in front.
After a moment to take everything in, I turned around but the museum gallery was no
longer there. Instead there were just large and ornate Roman buildings, like I was in an ancient
city of some sort. I glanced back to the parade and joined a group of people who were watching
from the side. They wore fine garments of colorful fabric and I suddenly felt how out of place I
was in my t-shirt and jeans.
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“What is this place?” I asked a man near me. He looked at me for a second but didn’t say
anything and I realized that they probably spoke another language. But then he said, “You must
be a foreigner. Did you come here to watch the yearly dinosaur parade?”
“I guess-” I said, still not sure what to make of everything.
“Oh look, the king is throwing the carnation. Whoever catches it can ride the stegosaurus.”
I looked up and saw that the crowned man in the carriage on the brontosaurus was holding a yellow
flower by its stem. He raised his arm and threw it in a smooth arc. It floated in the air for a second
and was going far away from me, but the wind suddenly pushed it and it landed right in my hands.
I held it, surprised. “What now?”
“You get to go on the stegosaurus!” The man said and pointed to the dinosaur lumbering
behind the king’s brontosaurus. Two people came out of the parade and led me to it. One of them
placed a flower laurel on my head and then they hoisted me up between the two rows of spikes on
its back. It didn’t appear to have noticed me as it continued walking calmly, always looking ahead
with its small triangular head. I patted its back, not believing that I was touching an actual dinosaur.
Its skin felt rough and warm. It was a surprisingly comfortable place to sit and its spikes kept me
from falling off. I wasn’t sure how to steer it, but it seemed to know where it was going.
I was still holding the carnation and waved it to the crowds of people watching and
cheering. The brontosaurus was in front of me, its giant tail trailing down. I wondered if you could
use it as a slide. I strained to look beyond it, and the parade continued for as far as I could see. I
looked behind me, beneath the elegant archway, and it was the same thing. It was like an endless
procession of dinosaurs and people. A woman on a pterodactyl swooped by, tossing petals into
the air. We walked past magnificent marble buildings and lots of flower gardens with shrubberies.
There were statues of dinosaurs and flags emblemed with them. I thought I could make out water
and waterfalls in the far distance.
We walked down to the end of one block, then turned and started walking up another.
People were looking out from the windows and balconies of their homes. A bell rung loudly in the
distance. None of the other dinosaurs reacted but my stegosaurus suddenly reared up onto its hind
legs and roared. Taken completely by surprise, I toppled off and landed hard on my back.
The noise faded away. I opened my eyes and saw ceiling tiles and bright fluorescent lights.
I was lying on the floor of the museum. The security guard was standing over me, looking
uncertain.
“Are you okay,” he asked.
“Yeah, what happened?” I said, confused again.
“You collapsed and fainted,” he said, “but you were only out for a few seconds.” I stood
up, trying to orient myself. Could it have just been a dream?
“Are you sure you’re okay? Oh, and I don’t know where the flowers came from.” I felt my
head and realized that the flower laurel was still there despite the fall, and I was still holding the
carnation.
I couldn’t help but smile. “It’s okay, I do.” I looked back at the painting. It was still frozen
in the moment, but now there was a small figure on the stegosaurus.
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Stranded
By Allison Wong
The rain was coming down hard and the air was a biting cold. Rin was sure that he would
die if he didn’t find somebody soon. He had crashed his car into a ditch driving through the woods
and although he was uninjured, he was stranded in the middle of nowhere. At first when he crawled
out of the wreck without a scratch he couldn’t believe his luck. Even when he saw that his phone
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was shattered he was sure he would find help soon. But he had been walking for three days now
along the road with no signs of another human, and he realized he could very well die in this
sprawling forest.
It was the fourth day and it was only through his determination that he slowly trudged on.
The rain was a relief to his thirst but it made him colder and he was still hungry. He had tried
eating berries in the woods but ended up vomiting and with stomach pains worse than his initial
hunger. Sometimes he was sure he heard a car approaching but it was just the rustling of the trees
from the wind. Nobody ever came.
He had been walking for hours when he saw a wide dirt path off to the side of the road. It
seemed abandoned and he almost missed it from the overgrowth. As he got closer he saw that there
were fresh tire tracks and he turned and walked up the path with his hopes refreshed. The trail
wound and snaked through the trees and after a couple of minutes he found himself in front of a
large, Victorian house.
He frantically knocked on the door but there was no response. He tried the handle but it
was locked. He went to the windows but they were nailed shut from the outside. Rin thought about
waiting for the owner to return, but there was no telling how long that would be and the option of
a warm and dry place was too tempting. With great effort, he pried the nails out of the window
pane and climbed in. His brown jacket caught the edge of a plank of wood and tore. It was his
favorite, but it was dirty now from his days out here and perhaps it was time for a new one.
He was in a living room with a long couch and fireplace. “Is there anybody here?” he called
out. Silence. Going across the room he found a lightswitch and to his relief it turned on. Rin passed
a giant mirror that hung on the wall. He had always been lean, but his face looked absolutely gaunt.
His cheekbones protruded more and his eyes were sunken back, probably from exhaustion more
than anything. His short, black hair, usually combed and neat was matted and wild. The person
looking back was so different that he had to look away. He glanced down and realized that he had
left muddy footprints over the wooden floor and quickly took off his boots. He would apologize
to the owner and clean it up later, but first he had to look around.
There was a kitchen and a large slab of raw meat on the table. It seemed that someone was
in the middle of slicing it when they left. Seeing his first food in days, he wanted to just devour it,
but he noticed a fridge and decided it would be better to see if there was something cooked. He
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felt a twinge of shame for breaking in and eating someone else’s food, but he would explain his
situation and pay them for helping him and all would be good.
He opened the fridge and saw the head first. The eyes stared back at him. It was a girl’s
head, with short blond hair that was crudely hacked off. The rest of the shelves were lined with
plastic bags full of dismembered arms and legs. A smell of rot and death filled the room. He
slammed the door shut and scrambled back, knocking into the table. The meat fell over and onto
its side with a thud and he saw that it was a woman’s torso with breasts.
He stood in utter shock, the reality dawning on him. He didn’t wanted to stay another
second in the house, but there might not be another person for miles and even if he did find a car
on the road it could be this killer. Breaking from his paralysis, he ran to different rooms looking
for a phone to call the police and get rescued. He flinched rounding each corner, expecting to find
more bodies but everything looked ordinary otherwise. And there wasn’t a single phone.
He was about to go upstairs when he heard a car pull up outside. He had turned off all the
lights but there was still mud on the living room floor and a body on the ground. He heard keys
jingling at the door. In only a few moments he would be found and he would be killed. Rin hurried
into a room with a single mattress on the ground. There wasn’t even a bed frame to hide
underneath. But there was a closet along the wall and he squeezed his way in and closed the door
just as the front door swung open.
He sat in the dark, an unbearable terror filling him. He could hear the person take a few
steps and then stop. His heart was beating so loudly that it threatened to betray him in the silence.
The steps continued and slowly went from room to room. Maybe if he ran out now he could make
it to the front door and escape. It wasn’t too late, the footsteps were still far away and the door was
close. But no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t get himself to move. And then the footsteps
were getting louder until the creaks in the floor were right outside the room.
Rin felt around in the closet for anything to defend himself with. He was going to die.
There was nothing, emptiness. He was going to get chopped up. The footsteps were at the entrance.
He was going to get stuffed into the fridge. And then his fingers brushed against something on the
floor. It was a handle, and when he pulled on it the floor opened up and there were stairs leading
to a basement.
He went in and tried to close the latch behind him as gently as he could. Cautiously he
made his way down the stairs. The basement was dimly lit by a single light bulb. On the floor there
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was a woman, tied up and blindfolded. There were bruises over her body and her legs were bent
at a weird angle, but she was breathing. Before he could do anything the latch was being opened
again and the person was coming down. Rin picked up a metal baseball bat off the floor and
prepared himself. It was a large man, his black hair still wet from the rain and his face flashed with
rage. He immediately saw Rin and lunged at him with a knife. Filled with adrenaline, Rin swung
his bat as hard as he could. Suddenly there was searing pain in his shoulder and his blood drenched
his clothes and dripped onto the floor but the man had staggered back and Rin had his chance to
strike again. The knife fell from his hands as he was beaten and Rin kicked it away. He bashed in
the man’s head over and over again until it split open and then some more until he stopped
twitching. It was an unrecognizable mess, as if his skull had just exploded.
Rin dropped the bat and nearly fainted. There was so much blood from his shoulder that he
was afraid he would die too. He picked up the knife and hobbled over to the girl to untie her. She
was unconscious but at least she was alive. He had seen her face before on the missing people
reports. A 27 year old that had disappeared over a month ago. He went over to the man’s body and
searched his pockets, and almost cried when he found a cell phone. He dialed 911 and the horror
was over.
Flea Market
By Allison Wong
I woke up, still feeling sleepy and stretched my legs as much as I could inside the car. My
little sister, Irene, was sleeping soundly in the backseat, where she could lie down completely. She
always got the better option, it really wasn’t fair. I peered out from the back window and saw my
mom’s pink hat bobbing above the rows of cardboard boxes as she unpacked the shoes while my
dad unloaded them from the truck. There were so many shoes, hundreds of thousands of them
crammed inside that little truck. A lot of the things still weren’t set up yet, but there were already
some customers stopping to look.
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A seagull flew by and landed on the wooden rooftop near our car. There were a lot of
seagulls around here, but this one always came to the same spot several times a day to say hi. My
sister and I had named her Clover.
Irene stirred, she was finally awake. She rubbed her eyes and yawned, her black hair a
mess, and reached for her glasses. “Come on, let’s go out,” I turned to her and said, getting bored
of sitting around. She nodded and we hopped out of the car. Mom saw us and smiled. “Hungry?”
she asked. “I want a hot dog,” Irene said, “and I want a bagel,” I chimed in. She took off her gloves
and told dad that we were going in to eat.
We walked past the vendor next to us. He had tables full of katanas and swords, real ones
from knights that had been used to stabbed people. I wanted one, but mom wouldn’t even let me
touch them, probably because they were so ancient. We walked past tables selling everything from
clothes, to toys, and pet supplies. The tables at the very end had a bunch of framed graphite
drawings displayed. There were some duplicate ones, and I really admired the man selling them to
have slaved over the same drawings over and over again.
Finally we reached the building for the indoor stores. We were early so a lot of the shops
were still locked up, with a metal mesh drawn over the entrance. The store owners were probably
sleeping inside, they could wake up later because they had nothing to set up. It must have been
nice to live inside the stores and not have to wake up early to drive hundreds of miles here. We
passed the pizzaria that had the most delicious square pizzas -- I had figured out that the secret was
really the shape -- a small perfume store, the arcade area, and some clothes store. It was always
fun to see the different things, even if it was already familiar to me.
There were a few people already at the foodcourt when we got there and Irene and I went
to find a seat at the tables while mom placed our order. We always got a hotdog with ketchup for
my sister, a raisin bagel for my mom and I to share, strawberry milkshakes and coffee. The plump
woman behind the counter shouted out the orders and disappeared behind a door. The milkshakes
are especially delicious here, because they’re made from fresh strawberries and milk that the lady
had gone to pick and collect from the bushes and dairy cows they had. That’s the cool thing about
a farmers market.
The wall of the diner was decorated with a bunch of signs and posters, but the one I fixated
on was the one that said “unattended children will be given an espresso and a free puppy,” in all
caps. I didn’t know what an espresso was and I didn’t really care about that, but Irene and I really
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wanted a dog and this was probably our best bet. We just had to figure out a way to sneak here
without mom. “What kind of puppy do you think they’ll give us?” I wondered aloud. “I hope a
small fluffy one,” Irene said, holding up her hands to demonstrate just how small. “Well no duh,
it’s a puppy. I want one with brown spots, or maybe curly fur. If they let us choose I get to decide.”
“No fair,” Irene said and pouted. Just then mom returned with our food. We both said nothing
about the puppy, even Irene who always tattles, because this was top secret.
We ate slowly and there were now more people walking around as the day began.
Thief
By Allison Wong
Sarah was rummaging through the clearance tables in the basement of the giant
department store. It was getting late, but Sarah figured just one more great deal and she’d go to
the checkout. Suddenly…
Her hand brushed over soft leather. She pulled a small brown wallet out of the pile of
clothes. Curious, she opened it and couldn’t believe her eyes. 1, 2, 3, 4 - her fingers quickly flipped
through the cash. Could it really be, 10 $100 bills! It was like a gift from God. She had felt that
today would be her day. She stuffed the wallet into her purse and cautiously glanced around to see
if anyone had noticed. But the store was practically empty and no one minded her. Sarah picked
up the blue dress and the velvet coat she had been trying to decide between, now she could get
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both with her little windfall. She walked to the cashier with a happy spring in her steps, feeling
like the luckiest woman in the world.
“Excuse me,” a tall man approached her from the side. “Have you seen a wallet anywhere?”
he asked desperately, “I had all of my money in there.” He seemed out of breath, as if he had ran
here. He had black short hair and a stubble on his chin, and his black coat was disheveled.
“I'm sorry,” Sarah said. She almost flinched at his sudden apparition but caught herself and
stood up straighter. “I haven’t seen anything, maybe it was turned in.”
“Are you sure? It was leather and old.”
Sarah nodded her head sadly. The man sighed and his eyes darting around the store as if
hoping it would be in sight, before turning and heading to the cashier.
Sarah went to the register next to him. She could hear him repeat his questions, more
distressed than before. The wallet felt heavy in her purse and she was giddy and nervous at the
same time. She reached into her purse to pay, and to her horror the leather wallet fell out with a
thud as she was pulling out her own credit card. The man stopped talking to the cashier and stared
at the wallet.
“That’s mine,” he slowly said and glared at her. He grabbed it and leafed through the
money. “And there's $500 missing!” he shouted in disgust. He pointed his fingers indignantly at
Sarah, “This woman is a thief! Give me my money back.”
“N-no,” Sarah was genuinely taken aback. “I didn’t take anything from it.”
“Sure,” the man said, “just like how you didn’t find my wallet.”
One of the cashiers cleared his throat. He was a slim young man who seemed rather bored
by the whole situation. “Now, there’s quite an easy fix to this. There are security cameras around
the store and we can review the footage”
Sarah’s heart lept then sunk. This was becoming more and more of a mess. “That’s really
not necessary, I honestly didn't --”
“Oh look, she's afraid to watch it. I’d love to see the evidence.”
“Follow me then, both of you.” The cashier stepped out from behind the register and started
walking towards the back of the store. Sarah hesitated and then hurried behind him, not wanting
to be near the person she had angered. She considered just sprinting out of the store, but she knew
she would never make it.
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The cashier's steps were light and easy and she could hear the man’s heavy steps behind
her, while her heels clicked on the tile floors. They were walking far too fast. Past the clearance
tables, the racks of coats, until they were out of the clothing section and then past tables and tables
of home appliances. Sarah had been to this store many times but she had never gone to the back.
It was quite a long walk though, no department store could have been this big.
The cashier made a sharp turn and with a few more steps they faced a wall in the corner
full of screens showing little snapshots of the store. “Where did you find the wallet?” Sarah stepped
up and scanned the monitors slowly, trying to delay the inevitable. She realized just how empty
the store was right now with each screen only showing static aisles, even the other cashier had
gone. She pointed to the screen with the discount section in view The cashier clicked a few things
on the computer and the videos rewound. Other customers were milling around, and there was
Sarah walking to the discount section. The image was fuzzy, but there was no mistake from the
blonde hair and long purple jacket that it was her.
“We can um, skip this part. It took awhile for me to find the wallet.” Sarah said. But it was
too late. Her tiny figure on the screen had reached out her arm and stuffed a scarf into her purse,
before glancing around and stuffing something else.
“Shoplifting huh?” The man said, “almost as bad as taking my wallet.”
The cashier turned and stared at her, “your purse please.” Sarah handed it over without a
word, there was no point in denying anymore. The contents were poured out on the desk and there
was red plush scarf, t-shirt, and a necklace with their tags still clearly on them. Her purse had
almost been stuffed to the brim with stolen items. The cashier’s nonchalant face turned grim now.
“Shoplifting is against store policies.” He suddenly grabbed her and pushed her. Sarah stumbled
backwards and bumped against a large square on the wall. It gave way and as she tried to get up
she received another forceful push that sent her over. She screamed all the way down before it was
ended with a splash.
The man ran to the chute but stopped before getting too close, bewildered. “What did you
do to her?“
“Shoplifters get sent there. They’re not tolerated in our store.”
“What happens to them?”
“They land in a large vat of a special chemical that only dissolves flesh and bones, but
doesn’t damage fabric.”
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“R-really?”
“Yes, it gets rid of the people but not their clothes. It’s how we stock our discount section.”
“Very interesting.”
“Let's check if she took your money.”
“It’s alright, I don’t really need it.”
“Okay, take care then.”
A Change of Mind
By Allison Wong
Peter peered into the window, careful to stay hidden in the shrubbery. The family was
sleeping and the whole neighborhood was still. His grip on the knife tightened. Could he really do
this? Murder an entire family? The moonlight shone on a framed photo of them happily smiling.
A young couple in their thirties and two little kids. He had killed before and he was even excited
for this job when he saw the sum his client had offered. But now, seeing this, the money didn’t
really seem to matter. Quietly he went back to his car and drove off.
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The End
127
Or
The Beginning
The young authors featured here will make names for themselves in a variety of
fields; but hopefully, with this publication they will be motivated to continue their
work as writers of delightful fiction and poetry!
Ms. Dorothy A Simon, Blessed to Have Known
These Four Souls